Charming Pawse Bk III Chpt V Call to Action
by wanderingchat
Summary: For every action there is an equal and opposite reaction.  For the first time, the town shows its' uncertainty of SAMCRO's presence.  Things are no better in Klamath Falls, as Tig finds out just how vindictive a spurned woman can be and Nate disappears.


The characters and events involving the Sons of Anarchy are the creation of Kurt Sutter.

No copyright infringement is intended.

Any use of lyrics and the mention of songs and performers in this text is also not intended to infringe upon any copyrights held by any of the artists.

All original characters that are not part of the SOA universe are products of my own imagination. Any similarities to real persons are pure coincidence.

Love and thanks go to the DH, who is very much alive and well; along with my best friend and my 'unofficial' god – daughter for being part of my family. Also, much thanks to the members of , , the Indy Tarts and Tartans Gerard Butler fan group, SOA Forums, Watchers of Anarchy, Kim Sisk (author of Sapphires and Whiskey), and my Facebook and Twitter friends for their support. A big thank you for those readers who have written reviews and listed me as a favorite author here at FanFiction. Net.

Finally, much thanks to Mr. Kurt Sutter for creating the SOA universe in the first place, and to Mr. Kim Coates for his excellent portrayal of Alex 'Tig' Trager.

**Charming Pawse **

**Book III **

**Chapter V **

**Oiled/Cargiven **

**Call to Action**

SAMCRO spent the few hours leading to Half – Sack's funeral service working to obtain intel on the apparent patch – over of the Calavarez MC by the Mayans. They also continued looking for information that would help them find Cameron Hayes.

Clay, along with Chibs and Happy went to meet with the Grim Bastards, another Lodi MC with ties to the Sons. Bobby, Jax, Opie, and Juice traveled to Precious and Serge Colletti's bail bond company for help with tracking Cameron and Abel.

Bobby dreaded facing his ex – wife and Tiki's mother. "I'm behind in child support and alimony payments – no thanks to Stahl and the Feds - Precious doesn't care that bein' in jail means ya can't make money. With Tiki's asthma kickin' up, she gets worried, and when she worries about the kid, she gets vicious!"

"I know, Bobby, but we need Serge's expertise," Jax replied. "I'm afraid the only way we can deal with Serge is to go through Precious."

"Why don't _you_ talk to Precious? Abel's your kid, she'll be more willin' to listen to you than me!" Bobby suggested after they'd parked their bikes and were standing in front of the bail bond storefront Precious operated with Serge.

"She's _your_ ex – wife!" Jax countered, pointing to his VP patch as a subtle reminder that rank has privileges.

Bobby squared his shoulders and entered the storefront. Within seconds, Precious was yelling and screaming, not letting Bobby get in a word of explanation. She ranted and raved about the missing payments, then swung a roundhouse punch that connected solidly with his face.

Jax sat on his bike, watching Bobby's lack of progress. 'Dammit! I don't have time for this shit! Why do some women pick the wrong time to pick a fight?' He flicked his cigarette to the sidewalk and rushed into the store, yelling her name at the top of his lungs.

Jax used the same dangerous, authoritative tone of voice he'd used with LuAnn when she flew off the handle at him at the hospital. It didn't quite have the same effect on Precious. LuAnn had trembled with fear when Jax barked at her; Precious merely took a step back, glaring furiously at Jax as if she wanted to take a swing at him.

"We – _I - _need Serge's help to find my eight month old son, Precious," Jax admitted in a more gentle tone of voice.

Precious' expression softened. "I heard about that, and about the Amber Alert being canceled. I'm sorry you lost the Prospect. Serge has a bad arm; he can't do the physical work to apprehend fugitives right now," she replied apologetically.

"Better let me talk with them, baby," Serge interjected. He'd been working in his office when he heard the commotion. He'd rushed out to come to his wife's aid.

"It's _my _business, too!" Precious snarled, rounding on Serge, fire blazing from her eyes.

"I know," Serge replied gently, not put off by his wife's infamous temper. "Let me deal with them. I'll get you some money for Tiki. Trust me."

"You know I do," she swung her glare on Bobby, who backed away a couple of steps. "All right, go ahead, but do it outside!" She flounced angrily back behind the counter while Serge shepherded Jax and Bobby out the door.

Bobby checked his face in the mirror of his Harley, wincing at the mouse that was developing under one eye. 'Precious can still pack a wallop!'

Jax quickly briefed Serge on all the info they had on Cameron Hayes. There wasn't much, just what they had from the 'Mr. Magoo', the Grim Bastards and Jimmy O.

Serge proposed a deal. If the Sons agreed to help him capture a fugitive, he'd use their day money to pay off Bobby's debt to Precious and help them find intel on Abel. 'I'll save what I would've had to spend on day help, Precious gets happy, Tiki gets some medicine, and I make points with SAMCRO!'

Jax knew Serge had ulterior motives for making such a generous offer. Every favor seemed to come with a price. He glanced at Juice, Opie, and Bobby, who agreed with a nod of their heads.

They followed Serge to a large, well – known adult entertainment emporium. Serge had received a tip that his quarry could be found there.

The Sons loitered in the entrance while Serge checked the viewing rooms in the back of the store. Serge found his bounty sitting in one of them, pants unzipped and dick hanging out, trying to jack off. 'That'll keep him occupied for a bit!'

On his return to the sales floor, he spotted two of the fugitive's friends standing at a counter, being assisted by a clerk. The friends had their backs turned and didn't see Serge as he approached the Sons. They hurriedly whispered plans to apprehend the fugitive, then sauntered to the back of the store, leaving Opie to keep an eye on the pair.

Opie wandered aimlessly about the sales floor, looking at but not really seeing the various sex toys and videos on sale. He stopped short when a particular video display and DVD cover caught his eye.

Plastered on the top of the display unit was a large cardboard print out of Lyla in a provocative position under the title of the film. It was the last movie she'd filmed for Caracara before it was destroyed.

He picked up one of the boxes, gazing sadly at his girlfriend's face and body. The pose she'd assumed for the camera appeared like a cheap come on to him. Opie was so engrossed in the DVD that he didn't see the fugitive's two friends walk towards the viewing rooms.

Jax, Bobby, and Juice took positions on either side of the viewing room door, guns drawn and ready. Serge held a pair of handcuffs ready to snap on the fugitive's wrists. The plan was to catch the bounty by surprise as he exited the viewing room.

"From the sounds in there, he's about done," Bobby whispered with a smirk.

"Get ready!" Serge hissed, stepping behind Bobby's sturdy bulk.

There was the sound of a belt being adjusted then the door opened and the fugitive stepped into the small hall to find three guns in his face. Bobby forced the man, who was pretty burly and tall, to face the wall. Serge started to handcuff the bounty just as his two friends rounded a corner, surprising everyone.

'Where the Hell is Ope?' Jax had enough time to think before all Hell broke loose.

The newcomers drew their guns on the Sons while the fugitive used his friends' unexpected appearance to his advantage. He knocked backward into Bobby, pushing him into Serge and his brothers.

The bounty's unexpected move made everyone, including the fugitive, fall onto the floor. Bodies squirmed and there were shouts of outrage as the wanted man tried to find his feet and escape.

Opie's attention was torn from the DVD cover at the shouting that issued from the back. He looked around the sales floor, noting the fugitive's two friends were missing. "Shit!"

He ran to the back with his gun drawn, stopping long enough to peek around the corner. The two had their backs to him. Opie crept up behind them and snarled for them to drop their guns and raise their hands.

The two men glanced at Opie's gun pointed at their heads and hastily complied, dropping their weapons and putting their hands in the air. Opie grunted an apology as the fugitive found his feet and dashed out the back door.

Jax and Juice leapt to their feet and ran after the fugitive, with Serge hot on their heels, reminding them he needed the fugitive caught alive.

Jax fired two shots in the air, which got the fleeing man's attention for a moment. He stopped right in the middle of the street, turning to taunt the two SAMCRO men. Just as he turned his back on them to continue fleeing, he was hit by a compact hybrid. The impact sent the fugitive flying through the air to land with a sickening thud on the pavement.

Serge ran up to them, gazing at the injured fugitive. 'That's one way to stop him from running!' He tried not to grin at Juice's wry observation about the car that had effectively stopped the bounty's flight.

The driver of the car had stopped, the windshield a spider web of cracks. The driver wasn't hurt, but definitely shaken up by the accident.

Sirens wailed in the distance. A signal that someone, possibly the shaken hybrid driver had called 9 – 1 – 1, and either emergency medical personnel, the police, or both were en route.

Serge sent Jax and Juice on their way. "He's not going anywhere on his own power," he added.

The two SAMCRO men ran back into the back of the store, where Opie was sternly warning the fugitive's friends of the consequences if they mentioned the club's presence to anyone.

Both men avidly agreed to keep silent. "We don't want any trouble! We won't say a word about ya!"

"See that you don't," Bobby growled. The two men beat a hasty retreat to the front of the store. Opie and Bobby holstered their guns as Jax and Juice trotted up to them.

"He stopped fleeing, Serge is with him now," Jax assured the two. He turned a frown on Opie. "Where the fuck were you?"

"Sorry man," Opie replied as they walked into the front of the store. "I got a little sidetracked."

Jax followed Opie's gaze to the display of Caracara DVDs, catching sight of Lyla's picture. "Dammit, Opie! We were relyin' on you to watch out backs, not get distracted by your girl's movie!"

Opie looked chagrined at his brothers. "I know! I'm sorry, guys! At least I got there in time to keep those two from picking you off!"

"They shouldn't have gotten back there in the first place!" Bobby retorted.

"Back off, Bobby!" Jax barked. "No one got hurt, except the bounty."

Bobby shrugged and stalked outside to his bike. He figured it'd be best to keep his thoughts to himself. Jax and Opie were closer than blood brothers. His cell phone rang and he dug it out of his inner cut pocket.

"Yeah?" He listened a moment then replied. "We're on our way." He closed the phone and turned to Jax. "That was Clay. He's got a lead on the Calavarez prez. Wants us to meet up."

"You two go ahead," Jax replied. "Ope and I will catch up in a bit."

Clay and his group met up with TO and the Grim Bastards at a local gas station. TO had some information on the Calavarez' operations, and provided the name of the Calavarez president, Hector Salazar. He also turned over Salazar's address.

'If the Mayans are considering patching over the Calavarez, that's trouble for us!' TO agreed to keep digging for more intel on the possible Mayan/Calavarez merger.

It turned out that Salazar lived in a rural area not far from Lodi. It was secluded, but somewhat easy for him to protect from intruders. Except for SAMCRO.

Clay and his men took the garage van to Salazar's. Jax and his contingent joined them. They split up and crept to the front and back doors.

Opie knocked on the door, giving the excuse that he'd hit Salazar's bike. When Salazar burst out the door without checking, the Sons forced their way into the house.

Both Salazar and his old lady – who managed to land a blow on Bobby before she was knocked unconscious – put up a good fight against the intruders. Salazar refused to talk to the Sons. Clay spit a defiant curse at Salazar, ordering his men to take him to The Hole.

The Hole was a method of persuasion the Sons rarely used, but it was an effective one. They generally used it for the harder to persuade bullies that occasionally crossed their path. Salazar fit that bill perfectly.

Clay kept his gun trained on Salazar while Bobby held fast to the ropes binding the Calavarez President's hands behind him. Happy and Chibs uncovered The Hole and prepared it for Salazar.

Salazar sneered defiantly at Clay and the club, though he was sweating profusely. 'They expect me to talk just because they're gonna put me in a hole in the ground? They'll have to leave me here to attend their brother's funeral. Louisa will come looking for me. I'll be free after they leave!'

The Hole was deep enough to enable a man to stand upright in it, leaving his head uncovered. Two stakes were pounded into the ground a few inches from the opening and leather leashes were tied to each stake.

Happy and Chibs forced Salazar into the hole, attaching the leather thongs around his neck and filling the hole with dirt. Salazar couldn't move to dig his way out of The Hole, and if he moved his head too much, the leather ties would cut off his air supply.

Jax and Opie turned up on their Harleys as Happy and Chibs finished filling in The Hole. Clay spoke loud enough for Salazar to hear, offering the two the first drive – by. Salazar lost all his bravado, alternately pleading with and swearing at SAMCRO to be set free.

Opie and Jax started their bikes, rode past Salazar and stopped a a few hundred feet away from The Hole. They faced the Calavarez leader, revving their bikes and watching him scream.

Jax and Opie looked at each other, then opened the throttles of their bikes, racing towards Salazar, who continued to scream in Spanish and English to be set free. He was sweating profusely from fear and his attempts to work himself free from The Hole.

His eyes widened in horror as the two powerful motorcycles rushed towards his head. He screamed as they passed on either side of him, so close that he not felt the heat from the passing engines and exhaust pipes.

The rising dust stirred by the bikes' tires mixed with the exhaust fumes, making him choke and cough and irritating his eyes. To add to Salazar's misery, he lost control of his bladder.

It usually took several passes for the victim to sing like a canary on speed. Salazar broke after the one pass, spewing everything Clay wanted to know about the Mayan/Calavarez alliance. As suspected, the drive – by shooting had been an initiation and the Lodi MC running heroin through Charming to the Mayan's pipeline in Stockton prison.

"Dig him up," Clay ordered.

Salazar was quickly removed from 'The Hole'. He was covered in dirt, sweat, and piss.

"Good thing we don't have carpet on the floor of the van!" Bobby observed.

"Yeah, but we gotta ride in there with the smell!" Juice moaned, holding his nose as he and Bobby led Salazar to the back doors of the van.

"At least he didn't shit his pants!" Jax smirked.

"Put a sock in it!" Clay growled. "We only have to take him back to his place; it's not that far!"

The van didn't stop to drop off Salazar at his house. Happy slowed down enough for Salazar to be dumped in front of the gate then sped away as Salazar's girl friend, Louisa, came running out to him.

"Hector! Are you OK?"

"Do I look OK?" he growled. "Untie me!"

Louisa used her boot knife to cut the ropes binding Salazar's hands behind him. Except for the wounds inflicted by SAMCRO before they took him away, he appeared unscathed. She diplomatically refrained from wrinkling her nose at the smell that emanated from him.

Louisa helped him up and they walked into the house. She'd been busy in his absence; all the glass and other items broken by the Sons' invasion had been swept up. She'd even made temporary repairs to the kicked in doors.

'That's why I love her!' Salazar thought approvingly as he limped to the bathroom. 'She always takes care of things!'

By the time Salazar showered and dressed, Louisa had a light meal and a beer waiting. She allowed him to eat in peace before demanding to know what had happened to him. "One minute that MC's breakin' up the house and one of 'em hit me, then I wake up and you're missing. I was scared for you, Hector!"

Salazar he'd had no choice but to tell SAMCRO what they wanted to know. "I thought they were going to split my head open like that policeman's we ran over last night!" he added.

"You had to tell, Hector. I understand that you ratted under pressure. I'm afraid that neither our club nor Alvarez will if they find out."

"Leave them to me, Querida. _ I'm _in charge of the Calavarez; SAMCRO will soon learn we're no bull shit MC!"

"What are you going to do?"

"Best that you not know, _Querida. _I prefer to keep you safe," he replied, reaching out to stroke her cheek with the back of his hand.

Louisa's eyes snapped with anger. "If_ I _were male, both SAMCRO and Alvarez would have reason to fear me and you wouldn't have to worry about my safety!"

Salazar's eyes softened as he smiled wolfishly. "Trust me, _muy amore_, I prefer you as woman!"

Alex held the package of whiskey blend coffee in his palm, staring in dismay at the distinctive _Charming Pawse _label_. _ His hand shook slightly at the implications of finding it next to the computer.

'Maybe she pulled Gemma's info first and didn't have a chance to check the coffeehouse website,' he nearly prayed. He sank onto the chair in front of the computer, jiggling the mouse to reactivate the dark computer screen.

Gemma's wanted notice flashed to live in front of him. Alex winced at the amount of money the Feds were offering for her return. 'Twenty five grand! Stahl's gettin' desperate.'

Cold fury raced through him when he clicked on the internet history to check on the sites accessed on line that day. One of the few websites listed there was _Charming Pawse's._

'Doubt Gemma's been online. Nate prolly doesn't remember how to use a computer and_ I_ sure as shit didn't it! This _has_ to be the gash's history.'

His fury grew when he found that Amelia's email account had also been activated. 'I've got a bad feelin' about this! I hope that bitch is lazy enough to have the internet remember her user name and password.'

He clicked on the email link, moved the mouse to the user name and touched the space bar. Lady Luck was smiling on him. A window appeared under the field with her user name in it. He clicked on it and watched the password field automatically fill with asterisks.

Alex accessed the 'sent mail' icon and sighed with relief to find no outgoing emails to the Feds or the coffeehouse. He checked the 'deleted mail' section and found no incriminating outgoing emails.

'Doesn't mean the gash didn't permanently delete 'em. Wouldn't put it past her! Guess she didn't have time to email the Feds, either from her account or the website. If she had, we'd be under siege by now.'

The coffeehouse didn't have an email address of its' own, so only the website address was printed on the label. Thinking about the Federal website made Alex uncomfortable. He clicked on the _Charming Pawse_ website to re - familiarize himself with it. He found the cause of his unease in the upper right hand corner of the website.

'Shit! That's gotta be how she contacted Cat! The 'contact us' icon!' His hand massaged the bridge of his nose as he glared at the offending hyper link and he stifled an urge to ram his fist through the computer screen. He took several deep breaths while gazing at a certain picture until his boiling temper was reduced to a slow simmer.

There was something new on the website that briefly captured his attention; a picture of the portrait of Prospect. 'Adrian's work, can't miss his style,' Alex thought sadly. 'I'm gonna miss the kid. Good man in a fight; a good friend and brother. Hated his choice of color for bikes, though.'

The next thing that caught his attention was a link to merchandise. 'It's been awhile since we talked about that venture, wonder what she's sellin' besides shirts?'

He'd up an arrangement with the business that supplied the garage with uniform shirts to provide shirts for the coffeehouse. Alex wasn't surprised to find different colored long – and short sleeved fleece shirts with the store's logo for sale.

What did surprise him was the other types of merchandise were available for purchase. A rainbow of different colored mugs, key chains, soup cups, and bookmarks were on display, along with two different sizes of plush versions of the feline trio.

Despite his fear of dolls, the plush coffeehouse felines didn't give him the willies, just as the Harley Davidson plush cat he'd bought for Cat in Indiana hadn't scared him. 'Whoever made those for her did a great job! They look just like the furry ones!' he thought admiringly.

'What the fuck is this?' He frowned at the notation under the feline trio. "Purchase_ any craft item by Tina Lou with either size of the feline trio, and get free shipping!_" A link took him directly to the other items not related to the coffeehouse Tina Lou created and offered for sale.

He shook his head in wonder. Tina Lou's old man had been a member of SAMCRO and a victim of the 1990's MC wars. Tina Lou had been left with a child to raise on her low – paying job and the sale of her crafts. SAMCRO did what they could to help her, and survivorship and a small life insurance benefit had provided a small nest egg and they managed to eke out an existence.

'I'll be damned! That little vixen!' Alex thought proudly. 'Figures she'd find a way to support one of ours – and not say anything about it - again!' His eyes rested longingly on the picture showing her leaning against the coffeehouse entrance, smiling invitingly.

Alex felt a wave of loneliness wash over him as he gazed at his wife, one finger caressing the photo. 'That's what I love about her; she just does whatever she thinks is right without callin' attention to it.'

He sighed wistfully as he shut down the internet session. 'Damn it! I miss that woman! She's become such a part of my life and she's done it so quietly. It almost hurts to be away from her. Maybe that's why I didn't wanna face the caregiver while I fucked her!'

He glanced at his watch and mentally calculated how long it'd been since Gemma had said good night to him. 'She didn't check on the caregiver before she went to bed. Think I'll go downstairs and have a few words with her.'

He walked through the quiet house, making sure that both Gemma and Nate were asleep. Then he slipped into the basement and down the stairs.

Amelia sat in the wheelchair where he'd left her earlier, her hands and feet tightly taped to arm and leg rests. Her bare feet were curled against the footrests. A black sleep mask covered her eyes.

Tig grinned as he listened to the old - fashioned country music blaring from the old clock radio on the workbench. 'That's really diabolical! Gemma's almost as evil - minded as my girl!'

The embers of his anger against Amelia rekindled into flame as he moved quietly down the stairs. He didn't want her alerted too soon to his presence. He didn't say as word as he crept across the floor.

Amelia sensed someone was in the basement with him once Tig had approached within a few inches of the chair. "Who's there?" she asked warily. "Gemma? Is that you? I really need to pee!"

'I should let ya piss yourself, but I need intel,' Tig thought, grasping the metal pan. "Lift your ass!" he ordered curtly.

"T – tig?"

"You were expectin' Juan Valdez?" he growled.

"Who?"

'Damn! Would've thought she's seen enough American TV to know who I'm talkin' about!' Tig shook his head in disgust. "Never mind. Gemma went to bed. Thought ya might need to relieve yourself," he replied gruffly. "Lift your ass so I can put the bedpan under ya."

Amelia smiled slyly in his direction. "Why don't you let me loose so I can go upstairs to use the bathroom?" she purred. "I'll be _very_ grateful to you!"

'I'll just bet you would! You wouldn't flirt if you could see my expression,' he thought dryly. "Sorry, doll. Not happenin'." He roughly shoved the cold metal under her bottom.

"That's cold!" she squealed, lifting her butt as high as she could. The tape prevented her from lifting very far. It was enough for Tig to slide the bedpan under her.

"I can't pee with you standing there watching," Amelia whined sulkily.

"Just pretend I'm not here and get it over with," Tig ordered briskly. "I'll turn my back."

"I can't see! How can I be sure you'll do as you say?"

Tig rolled his eyes. "Look, doll, I like weird sex. Watchin' women piss isn't one of those things I like." He turned his back on her, glancing around the basement.

Amelia waited a few uncertain seconds, then relaxed her bladder. The sound of liquid hitting the metal in a steady stream was unmistakable, adding embarrassment to Amelia's growing list of complaints against Gemma.

Though he was too far away to smell it, Tig's nose wrinkled in reaction to the sound. His stomach protested and he covered his nose with his hand.

"Don't suppose you'd be willing to wipe me?" Amelia asked in a sultry voice.

Tig gagged loudly.

"I'll take that as a 'no'," Amelia replied ruefully. 'You'll stick your dick up my ass but can't deal with wiping my pee? What a prick!' She lifted her butt from the pan. "Would you at least get this out from under me?"

"A'right," Tig agreed reluctantly, pulling his shirt front over his mouth and nose. He reached under her, grabbed the bedpan, and rushed it to the slop sink.

Amelia smiled grimly at the clinking sound of metal meeting porcelain, followed by the sound of running water. 'Jesus! What a big baby! Can't deal with a little piss!'

Tig sighed with relief to complete the nasty job, washing his hands thoroughly with hot water and soap. He breathed shallowly through his mouth until his hands were clean and he was sure the bedpan's contents were safely flushed down the drain. 'Thank God she didn't have to shit!'

He placed the bedpan upside down so it would dry and lowered his shirt. He took a shallow breath through his mouth. The air seemed acceptable.

"C'mon, Tig! It couldn't have been_ that _bad!" Amelia almost laughed at his distress. 'Maybe I shouldn't tease him. He might be my only chance at getting out of this mess!'

Tig glared at the caregiver, then smiled grimly. 'Too bad she had to get curious and ruin all the fun we could've had!'

He nearly kicked himself for his randy thoughts. 'Dammit! That's the dick thinkin' again!' He brutally reminded himself why he'd come downstairs in the first place. 'Gotta start thinkin' with my other head!'

"Could've been worse," he rumbled agreeably.

"Any idea what she's gonna do with me?" Amelia asked.

"I don't know, doll. I noticed you looked up the store that sells the coffee I made this mornin'," he deliberately changed the subject, hoping to steer Amelia towards the intel he wanted.

'So _that's_ what he meant by 'Juan Valdez'! I'll bet I was right in guessing his girlfriend owns that coffee place," Amelia thought. "I wanted to check out the competition. Didn't take much to figure your girlfriend supplied that coffee. Her name is Cat, and the coffee package had paw prints on it."

"That doesn't prove a damn thing!" Tig snarled.

Amelia giggled and continued in a snide tone of voice, ignoring Tig's declaration. "It was a relief to see her picture. I really feel sorry for you, Tig honey. That gal's an overweight, four – eyed, ancient hag! It's obvious that the only reason you wanna be with her is her money. What I don't understand is why you'd wanna fuck her, too!"

Amelia's vicious assessment wounded Tig to the core, making him gasp involuntarily. His eyes blazed angrily and his hands curled into fists at his sides. 'Why the Hell do these broads attack Cat's looks? Do they think it makes them look more appealing? They don't hold a candle to my girl!' It took every ounce of willpower to fight the desire to ram Amelia's unkind words back down her throat.

'Easy, love!' he heard Cat's calming voice in his head. 'Don't automatically rise to their bait!' He forced himself to relax. 'I'll just let the gash keep diggin' her own grave!'

Amelia wanted to smile in triumph when she heard Tig's pained reaction. She knew she'd hit a tender spot. Her eyes narrowed viciously as she leaned forward to deliver what she considered a killing blow. "Too bad your gravy train's about to come to a screeching end," she drawled.

"What the fuck are you talkin' about?" Tig growled. Though he wanted to hear her say the words, he also dreaded them.

"I contacted your girlfriend through the website and told her all about us. Course, I added a few embellishments that should upset her so she'll not want anything more to do with you. Then we can be together!" Amelia hissed triumphantly.

'That's what _she_ thinks!' Tig decided to play a bluff of his own.

"What makes you think the owner of that coffeehouse is my girlfriend? Just because her name is Cat?" He snorted with derision. "D'ya have _any_ idea how many women may have that name just in this town? Did it occur to ya that I might've bought that shit on the road?"

Amelia's brows furrowed behind the mask. 'It sounded earlier like I hit a nerve, but he doesn't sound like it now! It's as if he could care less about the woman on the website!'

Amelia shrugged nonchalantly to hide her uncertainty. "I'm willing to take the chance. If that woman isn't your girlfriend, she'll just think the email came from a nut case and get rid of it."

"True dat," Tig snarled. "You _are_ a nut case to send shit like that to a stranger! If that woman really were my old lady, d'ya _really_ think I'd reward ya for doin' that?"

"Why not? I obviously meet your needs better than any other woman, including _her_!" Amelia wheedled. "C'mon, Tig honey! Let me outta this chair, and I'll let you do anything you want to me!"

Tig's stomach protested at the idea. "Forget it, doll! Plan to hold it in the rest of the night, cause I'm not comin' back!"

"You're not going to bring me anything to eat or drink? It's been hours since dinner! I'm starved and thirsty!"

Tig smiled grimly. "Tell it to someone who gives a shit, doll."

"How can you call me 'doll' and treat me like this?" Amelia cried.

Tig couldn't resist. He lifted the sleep mask to her forehead, uncovering her eyes so she could see.

'Thank God! He was just joking!' Amelia blinked owlishly in the dim basement light. A shaky, hopeful smile crossed her face as she gazed up at him.

Tig gave her eyes time to adjust to the light before bending to place his hands on either side of the wheelchair armrests. He was careful to avoid any contact with her skin. Then he slowly brought his face near hers until they were nearly nose to nose.

Amelia leaned forward as far as the tape allowed in anticipation of an ardent kiss. She hoped that would lead to some hot, steamy sex on the leather couch. She'd even let him fuck her while she was still bound to the wheelchair. She licked her tried to reach for his chest or face, but the tape prevented her from touching him.

Tig suspected where her thoughts were taking her. His disgust rose like bile as he glared menacingly into her eyes. "I - _hate_ – dolls!' he hissed, malice dripping from each word. "You just don't get it! You threatened to rat Gemma to the Feds, talk trash about my woman and try to turn her against me with lies and then you expect me to _fuck y_ou?"

He turned his face away from her to spit on the concrete floor beside her. "_That's_ what I think of the thought of fucking you!" He lowered the mask over her eyes and stalked to the stairs.

Tears of hurt denial poured down her cheeks from under the mask. Amelia was unwilling to believe Tig didn't want anything to do with her. "You'll feel differently once you get over being shot while we were making love!"

"Don't count on it, doll!" he sneered. "We were fuckin', not makin' love. Get this in your head and get it straight; I wouldn't fuck you again if yours was the only pussy left on Earth!"

Amelia recoiled as if he'd slapped her in the face, realizing all her hopes had been ground to bits. She heard his tread on the stairs and screamed every curse she knew in English and Spanish.

"Sweet dreams, _doll!_" he snarled, shutting off the light. He closed the door behind him and leaned tiredly against it for a moment while Amelia's bi – lingual harangue continued. He shook his head and strode out the back door to the garden, feeling a need for fresh air, a smoke, and some phone calls.

Cat had just stepped into her house from the coffeehouse when the landline phone rang. June was sitting and knitting in the chair near the living room phone, and picked it up before Cat could get to the one in the kitchen.

"Hello?"

"Er, is Cat Marshall there?" a male voice answered.

'That's not Alex nor her dad. Guess it could be one of the club,' June frowned a moment before inquiring, "May I ask who's calling?"

"Um, David Girton, the high school music teacher."

"Just a moment, please," June replied, placing her hand over the mouthpiece. "I heard y'all come in. It's a David Girton calling."

Cat sighed wearily. "No rest for the wicked, eh? It's OK. He helped me out with the _Rocky __Horror _debut. I'll take it in here, kittenface."

She lifted the receiver in the kitchen. "Hey, David! What's up?"

"I got a call from Flo a little while ago. She said you're going to do a song on behalf of the CBOA at the service for Hale," Girton replied.

"Bad news travels fast!"

"Now, Cat! It's _not_ bad news. I think it's great!" Girton laughed. "The high school choir has been asked to perform, and I thought we could combine forces."

"That sounds intriguing. I was thinking of doin' something that was performed at a cop's funeral in Indianapolis, but I'm open minded."

"That's nice of you," Girton replied dryly. "Would it be all right to bring come over with a tape of the kids' practice?"

Cat sighed inwardly. She was tired, her side hurt, and she'd looked forward to taking a pain pill and getting some sleep until Alex called. Yet, she knew there was little time to prepare for Hale's service. "Sure," she replied breezily. "You know the address, right behind the coffeehouse."

"I'll see you in a few minutes."

Cat replaced the receiver with another sigh, this one of weariness.

"What's up, chick?" June inquired. She'd not listened in on the extension, but knew from Cat's side of the conversation that the long day wasn't over yet.

"The business owners drafted me to represent them in the service for Hale; I'm supposed to perform a selection. The high schoolers are also performing, Girton thought we might collaborate."

June frowned, then brightened. "That might be a good thing. Less wear on you."

"Maybe," Cat shrugged.

June handed her friend a cup of raspberry tea she'd prepared while Cat was on the phone. "Have some of this and relax until Girton gets here. You look ragged, chick."

"Gee, thanks!" Cat replied wryly.

"Hey, true friends tell y'all the truth, even when it hurts," June pulled out the chair opposite her and sat down. "What were you thinkin' of doin' for the service?"

"An U2 song, with a slight change of the lyrics at the end," Cat explained the one stanza that had been changed for the Indianapolis officer's funeral.

"That certainly sounds appropriate. Wonder what the kids are doin'?"

The doorbell rang, signaling Girton's arrival.

"Guess we're about to find out," Cat grinned.

June signaled that she'd get the door. Cat moved into the living room to curl up in a corner of the sofa.

Misty had run under the sofa as soon as the doorbell rang. When she sensed her mistress' settling down on it, the little black cat climbed up the back of it to cuddle next to her.

June peeked out the door spy hole. "Is Girton tall, blondish, with a goatee and mustache?"

"That's him and his vintage Caddy in the driveway," Cat replied, stroking Misty reassuringly.

June opened the door and Misty shot back under the sofa in a flash.

"Come on in Mr. Girton, before the big black cat tries an escape," June greeted the teacher, holding the door open and stepping aside.

Girton quickly entered the house. He carried a small tape recorder. "I'm familiar with Ebony's liking for the outdoors. He's the talk of the coffeehouse! I'm David Girton, and you're the lady that answered the phone."

June closed the door, then held out her hand. "June Kruckle. I'm a friend of Cat's from Florida."

"Nice to meet you. Glad someone's staying with her while her boyfriend's out of town," he replied, clasping June's hand.

David's tone of voice conveyed his opinion of Tig's absence, and it irritated Cat.

"Damn it! Is the whole town against him? Y'all don't realize the Hell he endured after the wreck! I had to talk him into goin' for cryin' out loud!"

The vehemence in her voice surprised Girton. "I'm sorry, Cat. Didn't mean to upset you."

She rubbed a hand through her hair and sighed. "Sorry to snap, David. It's been a long day and I'm still sore. Tig wouldn't have left me if I were in bad shape. It's kriffin' annoyin' that people gossip about somethin' they don't know about – and ain't their business anyway!"

June had returned to the recliner and her knitting. She couldn't keep from smiling at the energetic way Cat defended her man. She picked up her knitting and bent over it, working industriously until she felt she could look at her friend without grinning knowingly.

"You're right, Cat. I apologize," Girton replied, placing the tape recorder on the end table beside him.

"No real harm done. Guess it just adds to Tig's bad - ass reputation," Cat responded dryly.

June snorted and bent over her knitting again, her shoulders quaking with silent laughter.

"Is she all right?" Girton asked, glancing at June.

"I'm fine!" June assured him while her needles clicked furiously. "It's a private joke between us girls!"

"What are the kids gonna do for the service, David?" Cat inquired, turning their attention to the subject at hand.

"I'm not sure if you're familiar with this song. I was watching a movie on television the other night, and the song that played at the end really caught my attention. It's called '_The Ministral_ _Boy_'."

"I'm familiar with it."

June snorted. "Familiar! Hell, she watches that movie every chance she gets! One of her favorite actors is in it!"

Girton hefted the tape recorder in his hand. "Would you like to hear the kids version?"

Cat nodded and June laid her knitting aside. Girton depressed the play button and the sound of the high school combined choirs' voices filled the room.

Cat kept her expression neutral. She loved the song as it was written, but the teens were using a much slower tempo, making the song more of a dirge than it was originally intended.

About midway through the recording, Girton shut the player off with a sigh. "I can tell you're not happy with it, Cat. What's wrong?"

"The pacing is just much too slow," she admitted. "The kids are great. You can tell they're emotionally involved, and I know we're all sad about losin' Hale - "

"I've gotta agree, Mr. Girton," June replied. "I'm no musician, but that would put me to sleep!"

Girton nodded in acceptance. "I was afraid of that. It seemed like a good idea when we practiced it. The kids weren't happy with the end result, but they seemed resigned to it."

"I think we can make this work, David, if you're willin' to take a walk on the dark side," Cat assured him.

Girton gazed at her, wondering what she meant by 'the dark side'.

"She's not talkin' about '_The Force_'," June warned him.

"Why do I have a bad feelin' about this?" Girton moaned.

Cat gave them the one – eyed 'look' and dug out her Iphone.

'Cat can't be needin' bread for the coffeehouse so soon!' Bobby stared at the telephone number showing on his caller ID. "Hey, darlin'! What's up?"

"The sky, last time I checked," Cat replied.

"Fun – nee!" Bobby's eyes rolled to the Heavens. "You didn't have to take it literally!"

"I know y'all have been busier than a one legged man in an ass kickin' contest. I need a little help and was hopin' y'all could spare me some time this evenin'?"

"Y'all as in me?"

'You'd think by now they'd know the difference between the plural and the singular!' Cat sighed. "Just you, stud."

"What for? I don't wanna get on Tig's bad side!" Bobby joked.

"Sorry, darlin'! Cute as y'all are, my lust is reserved for Tig!" Cat replied.

"Yeowtch!" Bobby winced. "At least ya called me cute, guess I can handle that."

"Good. I need your help with a song for Hale's funeral; got roped into singin' as the business sector's rep," she explained. "You're the only other musical genius I know besides David Girton."

"Why not ask him, darlin'? He's prolly got more free time than I do."

"Because I need y'all_, _and because Girton's gonna be comin' along. We're workin' on a medley of sorts."

"A'right. The dinner's already wrapped up. C'mon out."

Cat laughed in his ear. "I'll see y'all in a few; unless there's an unavoidable change."

"OK, darlin'. Hey, did ya hear from Tig today?"

"Talked to him earlier. He sounded a little stressed. Think Gemma's not bein' very co – operative with him."

"Hah! He should be used to that by now!" Bobby guffawed.

"I resemble that remark! Thing is, he can deal with my occasional tendency to be contrary. Dealin' with a contrary woman who's married to yer boss _and_ club prez is a horse of a different color!"

"You might be right. See ya later, kitten!" Bobby sighed tiredly. His face was sore from Precious' attack, but he found himself looking forward to working on Cat's project.

'I could really use a better outlet than booze right now. Music might be a pleasant change."

Gemma was exhausted. She couldn't recall a day as stressful as the one she'd just experienced. The last thing on her mind was seeing to the caregiver's comforts. 'Let her sit in her own waste for all I care!'

Nate had forgotten all about shooting Tig, much less finding Tig and Amelia _in flagrante delitcto_ in the caregiver's bedroom. Gemma knew her father had been traumatized at the time, and was glad that his dementia had caused him to quickly forget the incident.

Once the initial shock had worn off, Tig had diplomatically refrained from mentioning it. Amelia had slunk around like a whipped cur until Gemma had caught her accessing the ATF website.

'I had to lie to Daddy the rest of the evening! It hurt to tell him Amelia was taking a rare night off when she's right in the basement! He wore me out between looking for Rose and asking me where Amelia was all night. Dunno how she can handle that every day and not go nuts!'

Gemma sat on the edge of the bed, holding her head in her hands. It frightened her to consider how close she'd come to being turned over to the authorities. 'If I'd walked in a few seconds later, she might've succeeded in contacting the Feds! Thank God I had Tig's gun and was able to stop her from leaving the house.'

She'd intended to use the cover of twilight to remove the rifle from the house and bury it in a field behind the Madoc home. The bullets were in her jeans pocket when Amelia grabbed it from the counter to use against Gemma. Instead of getting out of the house, she was Gemma's captive, taped to a wheelchair in the basement.

She was worried about Tig's shoulder wound. Though she'd managed to remove the bullet and thoroughly clean the wound, Gemma knew it needed professional attention. 'I have to call Tara and get her up here. Could use her help with moving Daddy to the nursing home anyway.'

She accessed the 'received calls' menu of the throwaway to find the number for the prepaid Tara had used to call her. 'All this cloak and dagger shit is wearin' me out!'

"Gemma?" Tara answered breathlessly. "Is everyone all right? What happened? What took you so long to call back?"

"It's me, everyone's fine – sorta," Gemma replied. "Daddy had a bad moment, mistook Tig for a burglar and shot him in the back. He thought Tig was attacking my mother. It took awhile to calm him down."

"What on Earth was Tig doing that would make Nate go off like that?"

Gemma shrugged. "He was tappin' Daddy's caregiver. They didn't lock the door and Daddy walked in on them."

"Jesus!" Tara winced. 'Serves him right for betraying Cat, though!'

"Can you get outta town without the Feds knowin'? Tig really needs professional care, and I can't risk takin' him to the hospital."

"Sure. I'm taking some personal time, I can leave tonight and be there in a few hours. How bad is it?" Tara started making a mental list of supplies.

"I removed the bullet and cleaned it as throughly as I could. It's gotta be painful, but he won't admit to it!"

Tara smiled at the comment. "Is he showing any signs of fever or nausea? Does the area look red or feel hot?"

"Nope. Not last time I checked. That was a couple of hours ago."

"That's a good sign."

"Tara, whatever else you do, don't say anything to Cat about Tig getting shot. It'll just make her worry and upset her, and she's still pretty weak," Gemma added.

"She says they have an understanding about road sex, but I agree that there's really no need for her to know about any of this," Tara assured her.

"How's Cat holding up?"

"She looked tired and weak at Sack's funeral. Clay made her skip the meal at the clubhouse. Her friend was driving her home when I left the cometary."

"I wish I could've been there to say goodbye to the kid," Gemma sighed. "Looks like I'll miss Hale's service too."

"It can't be helped, Gemma."

"I guess not," she sighed again. "I imagine Tig'll be callin' Cat to check in before long."

"He's going to have a hard time catching up with her. The CBOA is meeting at her coffeehouse tonight to discuss Hale's funeral," Tara supplied.

"Poor kid! She gets no time off for good behavior, does she?" Gemma groaned.

"Seems that way. What should I tell Jax?"

"That I need your help with Daddy. I'll talk to him if you want."

"I appreciate the offer. Jax is still at the clubhouse," Tara sighed.

"How's Abel?"

"He's asleep," Tara replied evasively. 'I really hate lying to Gemma about Abel!'

"Give me a call when you reach town. I'll give you directions from there."

"Get some rest, Gemma. I'll see you soon."

Gemma closed the throwaway and set it on the charger with a tired sigh. She turned off the bedside lamp and lay back against the pillows, gazing at the dark ceiling above her and massaging her chest with one hand.

Her heart was racing. She'd stopped taking the medicine that regulated her heart because of the way it made her hands and feet swell. Gemma took several slow, deep breaths and continued stroking the scar between her breasts. After several minutes, her heart beat returned to normal and she drifted into a troubled sleep. 

Cat and David Girton arrived at the clubhouse fifteen minutes after her call to Bobby. Cat carried a small bag and Girton carried a guitar case. Girton looked both excited and nervous to be inside the hallowed halls of the SAMCRO clubhouse.

"Bobby, y'all remember David from the first _Rocky Horror _night," Cat announced, subtly reintroducing the pair.

"That was a good night. Been awhile since we had one of those!" Bobby warmly shook hands with the music teacher. "Want a beer or somethin'?"

"No beer. I'm driving," Girton replied. "Got any cola?"

"Chuckie'll be out shortly and get some Coke for ya." Bobby eyed the cassette recorders and musical notebook Cat withdrew from her carry bag. "You weren't kiddin' about a project, were ya, darlin'?"

"No, I wasn't. This is damn serious business to me."

"Sure ya wanna work here?" Bobby gestured around them. The clubhouse wasn't packed, but it wasn't the quietest place to do serious work, either. Bobby was also worried about the potential fireworks that might erupt between Cat and Kozik, who was staying at the clubhouse overnight.

Juice, Kozik, and Chibs were alternating between playing pool and nuzzling croweaters.

Kozik's back was turned to the door when Cat first entered the clubhouse. He didn't notice her presence until he turned to pick up his beer and nuzzle a Croweater.

He frowned in consternation, then shrugged and turned his back to Tig's woman. 'I'm on Sons turf, she's the intruder this time! I'll just ignore her and let her be the one to start somethin'!'

Clay was sitting at the bar, drinking beer and feeling miserable. He'd watched Kozik's reaction to seeing Tig's old lady in the clubhouse and hoped there wouldn't be trouble between the two. 'Don't need Cat threatenin' his family jewels again!'

Happy and Opie were sitting at a secluded table. They didn't see Kozik's reaction to Cat's entrance. They were engaged in a serious game of cards.

It was obvious to Cat that losing Half – Sack still affected the men. "Maybe your house or mine would be quieter, Bobby, but either location would send the wrong message," she observed, sarcastically referencing Tig's objections over Chuckie staying at their house in his absence.

"Hey, Miss Cat!" Chuckie called in greeting as he stepped out of the kitchen. "What brings you here?"

"I needed a little expert help with some music for Hale's service," she called back.

"I accept that," Chuckie grinned, walking over to join them. "May I sit in?"

"Don't see why not," Cat gazed questioningly at Bobby, who nodded agreement.

'I know why she wants to work here. Sendin' the wrong message has nothin' to do with it!' Bobby thought. 'She misses Tig. Prolly feels closer to him by bein' with us.'

"Can ya grab a cola for the music teacher, Chuckie? And bring me a beer," Bobby ordered.

Chuckie rushed off to the kitchen, returning with the requested drinks. Cat had advised Girton not to call attention to Chuckie's disability, so David merely smiled and nodded a 'thank – you', before accepting the bottle.

Chuckie settled in a chair across from Bobby while Cat and David occupied the sofa. Chuckie's eye lit up when Girton removed her guitar from its' black case.

"That's nice!" Chuckie reached out a finger to caress the gleaming hardwood.

"Did ever you play, Chuckie?" she asked quietly.

He shook his head. "Nope. I do pretty good at chopsticks on the piano!"

"Now that's somethin' I never mastered!" Cat grinned. "All those years of piano lessons, and I can't play chopsticks to save my life!"

She turned her attention to Bobby, who'd removed his own guitar from its' case. His guitar was a little older and more worn than Cat's, but that didn't seem to matter to Chuckie, who gazed appreciatively at Bobby's instrument.

"That's pretty nice looking, Bobby!"

"This old gal and I have seen a lot of years together," Bobby replied. "So what do you two have in mind?"

"Are you familiar with any of U2's music?"

Bobby frowned a moment. "The earlier stuff, yes. Why?"

"I've got an idea on revampin' the song '_Pride in the Name of Love_,' she replied.

Bobby shook his head. "Doesn't ring a bell," he admitted.

"I came prepared," Cat announced, hauling out her Iphone and selecting _You Tube_. Her account was already logged in, and she had saved the clip to her favorites.

The clip Cat had selected was of early U2, when The Edge had long hair and the band was younger. The clip was also a live version.

Bobby watched and listened intently. Cat watched him, and Chuckie and Girton watched them both, though they could barely hear the song.

"That's kinda fast paced, and written for electric guitar," Bobby observed when the clip ended.

"I'd like to slow the tempo a tad, and play it in a different key."

"Higher or lower?"

"Not sure. I'm leanin' towards a minor key," she replied. "I thought we'd just jam, see what we come up with."

"I have the combined Junior and Senior High choirs' contribution to the project on tape," Girton replied. "It's a rendition of '_Minstral Boy_' that Cat wants to incorporate into the U2 selection. Do you want to hear what the kids sound like?"

Bobby nodded. "I'm not familiar with that one, either"

Cat turned on the tape player. There was a lone flute playing an intro, then the choirs' voices droned:

_'The minstral boy to the war is gone_

_In the ranks of Death you'll find him. _

_His father's sword he hath girded on _

_And his wild harp slung behind him. . .'_

Bobby frowned at the dire like tempo. 'It's good, but much too slow!' He indicated for Girton to turn off the tape player. "That sounds familiar. Isn't it actually a little faster than that?"

Cat nodded. "It played at the end of the movie '_Black Hawk Down_'. I've heard it played at many different tempos."

"I watched that move last night in the treatment room!" Chuckie spoke up.

"Yeah, I remember it now. Just have a lot on my mind," Bobby replied. "I hope you don't want to take the U2 song that slow, Cat!"

"Definitely not! Wish I had a metronome with me, could give you a better idea of what I'm thinkin'."

Bobby tapped on his forehead. "Just play what's in your head, darlin'."

She wrinkled her nose at him, then slung the strap of the guitar over her shoulder, wincing slightly as her side screamed in protest.

"You a'right, darlin'?" Bobby asked worriedly.

"Yeah, just stiff and sore. Kozik isn't exactly lightweight when he lands on a body!" She replied wryly, glaring at the person in question. Kozik's back was turned to her. He was leaning over the pool table, preparing to shoot.

"Guess not," Bobby murmured.

Cat placed her fingers along the frets on the guitar neck. "He'd best stay away from me. I don't really wanna go 'El Kabong' on him."

All three men looked blankly at her. "Oh for -! Didn't any of all y'all watch Hanna - Barbera cartoons as a kid? El Kabong was Quick Draw McGraw's alter ego!"

Bobby shook his head. "Sorry, Cat. Prolly saw it, just doesn't register."

She shook her head in disgust.

"If it means what I think it does, Miss Cat, that'd be a terrible thing to do to your guitar!" Chuckie offered.

"I accept that!" she grinned, then turned her attention to Bobby. "Do you think you heard enough to be able to pick up the harmony while I pluck the melody?"

"I think so, Cat. Let's give it a try," Bobby replied, readying his guitar. She indicated the slightly slower tempo she wanted to take than the 4/4 the song was written in. She plucked the first three notes for three beats, then repeated the three notes. Bobby came in with the underlying strummed chords in the same three notes.

They played together for a few bars before Cat stopped. "That's close, but not quite what I want," she murmured.

"The tempo sounds right, wanna try takin' the key down a tad?" Bobby replied.

She strummed the guitar again, taking the key down another half note. "That sounds about what I'm lookin' for," she agreed, sliding a copy of the lyrics across to Bobby.

"Let's see how it feels, then." Bobby tapped the front of his guitar, establishing the beat, then nodded at David to play the tape of the kids again. After the first stanza, Cat played the short three note repeated intro as David stopped the tape.

Bobby again supplied the strummed chords as they both softly sang the lyrics. Their voices blended well together, hers just slightly higher than Bobby's.

Chuckie nodded his head in time to the music, while Girton looked on, admiring the way the pair worked together. The group was so engrossed in the project that they didn't realize they were attracting an audience.

Kozik, Chibs, and Juice were the first to drift over to the group with the Croweaters in tow. Wanting to prevent a feud, Clay grabbed Kozik's arm and gestured with his head for the Tacoma man to join him at the bar.

"You need to stay away from her," Clay growled. "You can listen just fine from here."

Kozik nodded assent and leaned against the bar, keeping his back to Tig's old lady. The Croweater who'd been flirting with Kozik was so engrossed in the music that she didn't realize he wasn't following her.

Happy and Opie remained at their table, listening intently to the jam session. Their cards lay neglected, face down on the table.

'She looks tired,' Clay observed, taking another long pull from his beer. 'Prolly not sleepin' well without Tig around. Not that she prolly sleeps much when Tig's home!' A wry grin crossed his face as the thought reminded him of how much he missed his wife. 'I'm not sleepin' so well myself without Gemma!'

Cat's bad arm was giving her trouble. She was having difficulty keeping the tempo though she was using her good hand for the fingering. The pain in her injured arm and hand made strumming the slower tempo more difficult. She grit her teeth against the pain, but Bobby could tell she was hurting and stopped playing.

"Take a break, Cat. Girton, do you play guitar?" Bobby ordered gently.

"Sure. May I, Cat?" He extended his hands to take the guitar from her, which she turned over without a complaint.

'Now I know she's in bad shape! I've never seen her willingly give that baby to anyone else to play!' Bobby thought worriedly. "Why don't ya sit this one out and let us guys have a go at it?"

Cat leaned back against the sofa with a small sigh of relief.

"I'll get you some water, Miss Cat," Chuckie offered, racing off to the kitchen before she could protest. He returned in moments with a class of ice water, which he placed in her good hand.

Bobby and Girton worked out who would play what part, then they launched into the song again.

"Bobby's got a good voice," Juice observed.

"Ye soond lyke yer surprised," Chibs replied. "Ye hurd 'im sing at tha' Rooky Horror thing!"

"Yeah, but that didn't count," Juice countered. "I didn't' think that was his real singing voice"

"Ye've gut a lot ta lairn, me bhoy!" Chibs replied.

"Cut the comedy, you two!" Clay growled. "The lady's tryin' to work and doesn't need comments from the peanut gallery!"

Dinner with June had seemed more like an endurance contest for Agent Tyler. Her lover had been remained uncharacteristically quiet during the meal. The only mention she made about work was to announce that Sullins had agreed to increase the reward for Gemma to twenty five thousand dollars.

"That's a lot of money for a fugitive not wanted on a Federal warrant!" Tyler protested

"She's crossed state lines, that makes her Federal business," Stahl countered briskly. "If it weren't for the demotion, I'd already be in Oregon, running a stake out on the Madoc home!"

"I'm surprised you didn't go anyway," Tyler replied.

Stahl glared at her girlfriend. "Sullins made it quite clear that I couldn't. It's damn tempting to go anyway, but I can't with this demotion over my head!"

"I'm glad you decided to play it safe for once. Gemma Morrow will make a mistake, and she'll be caught. Maybe then we can relax. You could use some time off."

Stahl wadded up her napkin and threw it on the table, standing up from the table to tower over Tyler. "I won't relax until I destroy SAMCRO! When will you get that through your thick head?" She stormed from the dining room to the den.

Tyler's hands shook from Stahl's unexpected burst of temper. 'She's getting more obsessed and that's making her dangerous to be around! I'm afraid she's going to do to herself – or both of us - killed.'

Tyler rose from the table and walked to the front door, grabbing her jacket from the hall closet. She slipped out of the house to the sidewalk, walking purposefully down the street. 'Let June clean up for once!'

Once she rounded the corner and was out of sight of the house, Tyler dug her personal cell phone from her pocket. She dialed a number she'd committed to memory, hoping she'd never need to use it.

"Sullins here."

"It's Tyler. I'm really worried about June," Tyler replied. "Her obsession with that club is getting more intense."

"I've been afraid that would happen," Sullins replied. He paused a moment before adding, "You two are involved, aren't you?"

Tyler's heart skipped a beat. Fraternization was heavily frowned upon in the agency. There was no iron clad rule against it, so long as those engaged in the activity were on the same grade level. Technically, Stahl was no longer Tyler's subordinate.

"Don't worry, I'm not going to hold that against you – or Stahl," Sullins assured her.

"What are you going to do about her?"

"I want you to keep an eye on her and report personally to me on anything she does related to that club - and Mrs. Morrow. I'll try to arrange a psychiatric assessment, but it's going to take time."

"I'm scared for her, Sullins."

"Are you afraid she'll hurt you?"

"No," Tyler replied softly. 'Not physically.'

Clay had been debating whether the club should attend the memorial service for Hale. He made the decision to go after he talked with Floyd. The loyal barber had called him after the CBOA meeting to warn him Jacob Hale was holding SAMCRO at fault for his brother's demise.

"He tried to rope Cat into talking you boys out of attending the memorial. When she refused, he pressed her to tell you not wear your cuts. She told him off in no uncertain terms!"

"Neither scenario is news to me. What else went on?"

"Unser told Hale he'd speak to you about your cuts and he shut up."

'Knowin' Unser, he just said that so Hale would zip his lip!'

"Likely she'll turn to Bobby Elvis for some help with her part of the service. I know you boys are busy - "

"We'll make the time," Clay promised. "Thanks for the intel, Floyd." Clay then took Bobby aside after the call with Floyd to advise him to be ready to lend assistance when asked.

"It's not like you have to tell me twice, Clay," Bobby stated. "We owe Cat a lot, but I'd help her if we didn't. Hale wasn't a bad guy; gotta respect someone who stands by his principles."

"Yeah. I do," Clay murmured in response. He felt he'd made the right decision. 'The kid deserves our respect. He made the wrong choice by initially sidin' with Zobelle. Hale came through for us in the end.'

Clay took another pull from his beer as he watched the quartet. He could see that Cat was tired and in a lot of pain. 'She's really hurtin'. If she got any rest before that damn meeting, this extra effort has undone any good it did for her!'

"Bobby, why don't we do the whole thing so the kids can hear it and get the timing down?" Cat inquired.

Bobby and Girton nodded assent. Chuckie waved his hand for Cat's attention. "May I join in?"

"Sure, Chuckie. If y'all really want to," she glared over at the Sons, non verbally warning them not to laugh at his request. They returned her look with innocent shrugs.

"Cat?" One of the Croweaters called softly. "Do you mind if I join in, too? You could use a woman's soprano in this, and I really like what you've put together."

Cat glanced again at the trio around her, who shrugged in agreement. "C'mon over, then!"

The Croweater stepped behind Chuckie's chair. "Thanks," she murmured.

"Let's tape this thing so I can go home and get some rest," Cat announced.

Girton inserted a new tape into the larger cassette recorder and pressed the record/play buttons. He assumed the role of choir director, giving hand signals to indicate the tempo.

When he gave the direction to start, the four harmonized on the first stanza of '_Minstral Boy_'. Chuckie surprised everyone by supplying a rich tenor voice to the mix. The Croweater had a sweet soprano that belied her tough chick demeanor.

At the end of the first stanza, Girton plucked out the intro, then Bobby began the guitar phrasing. He and Cat both sang the lyrics to the U2 song. At the bridge, Girton, the Croweater, and Chuckie sang the faster version of the remainder of the first song.

There was silence in the clubhouse as the recording was made. When Girton shut off the tape recorder, the Sons and Croweaters offered a rousing round of applause.

"Tha's really gud, Lady Cat," Chibs snuffled. "I lyke tha' vurse ye added."

Chuckie sniffled loudly. "Dust in the wind," he muttered, wiping his nose on the sleeve of his shirt.

"We're workin' on an U2 song, not a Kansas tune," Cat replied, winking at her former employee.

The men and the Croweaters groaned at her pun. Though it was a bad one, the bit of levity had helped to lighten their mood.

"I see what you're talking about now, Cat," Girton interjected. "I like the idea of bringing in the choir with the rest of the lyrics at the bridge. It's effective."

"I agree," Bobby replied huskily. "I like that verse after the bridge, too."

"Thanks. David, are the kids practicing tomorrow?"

He nodded. "During the first two periods, since the service is in the late afternoon. I can work with the choir on the new tempo and the bridge from this recording."

"I can make it to the music room to help 'em out. We'll have to do it without Bobby; the guys are workin' on findin' Abel," Cat offered.

"I'll be there for the service, Cat," Bobby promised, his eyes conveying silent gratitude to her for covering for him.

"I know, darlin'. But we'll have a backup plan in case y'all can't make it," she assured him.

"You look all out, darlin'. Go home and get some rest," he held out his arm so she could use it to help herself stand.

Cat accepted the gesture, rising slowly and painfully to her feet. She swayed with weariness, nearly falling into Bobby's arms.

"Whoa, there!" He held her upright, allowing her to lean against his chest. "You gonna be OK to get to the car?"

She nodded. "Yeah, I'm fine Bobby. Just tired and got up too quick."

"You sure?" he asked worriedly. He didn't like how pale and weak she looked.

"I'm sure, darlin'. But thanks for worrying," she patted his arm in a comforting manner and stood up straighter, though he could see how much pain she was in.

Girton and Chuckie had busied themselves with packing her equipment for her. Girton secured the guitar in its' case while Chuckie packed her tape recorder and lyric sheets in her carry bag.

"Bobby, how are all y'all handlin' all this? It just seems like all y'all been punched in the gut more times than Rocky Balboa in his entire career!"

Bobby grinned at her apt description. "It's not been easy. We're still reelin', Cat."

She gazed about the clubhouse to see Jax leaning against the bar next to Clay. She had to admit he looked better than he had the night of the kidnapping. 'He looks upset about somethin'; hope he and Tara didn't butt heads.'

"He's handling it, Cat," Bobby murmured, following her gaze and answering her unspoken question. "He's barely keepin' control of his temper, but he's not boozin' as much as he was the night it happened."

She nodded, deciding to change the subject, "I guess y'all know that the guy that fell outta the van wasn't connected to the Mayan. Unser and I spoke about it, he filled me in."

Bobby's eyes widened in surprise that she was aware of club business. "Yeah, we know. It's another thing we're dealin' with," he admitted.

Clay heard her comment as he walked over to speak to her. 'Didn't figure she'd talk to Unser about it, but it makes sense. Her alliance with us is well known, could make her a target.' He placed a light, avuncular arm over her shoulders.

"That's why I'm sendin' an escort with you to make sure you get home safe."

Cat started to protest, but Clay's glare silenced her. "I'm not Tig, so you can't do your own thing like you pull on him!" He softened the glare with a wink. "Besides, I promised Tig we'd keep you safe."

"Can't have y'all lettin' Tig down, can I?" she replied with a grin. "OK. I accept that."

"Damn decent of ya, Cat!" Clay growled sarcastically. He looked around the clubhouse to select an escort. He knew she was most comfortable with Chibs, but he and Juice had been drinking. Clay respected Cat's opinion on the subject of buzzed riding.

"Hap! You sober?"

"As a judge."

"Follow Cat home. Make sure she gets there safe."

"Oh yes I will!" Happy walked up to her, his intent gaze softening as he approached. He picked up the guitar case and her carry bag, then offered his arm. "Are you ready to go, Lady Cat?"

She laughed and slipped her hand in the crook of his arm, allowing him to escort her to the door. "G'nite, lads!" she called.

Girton followed behind her and called his own farewells.

"G'nite, Cat! Good to see ya again, Girton!" All but Kozik called out before returning to their individual pursuits.

"See ya, Miss Cat!" Chuckie called as the door closed.

The trio walked silently to Girton's vintage Cadillac. It's presence caught Happy off guard. "Guess I thought you drove here!"

"Believe it or not, I'm actually learnin' to let others do me a favor or two," she grinned.

Happy loaded the guitar case and carry bag in the Cadillac's back seat and firmly closed the door. "Nice ride, Girton," he growled.

"Thanks," David opened the door to the passenger seat for Cat.

"Give me time to get my bike," Happy ordered.

"You don't have to follow us, Happy. I'm a big girl, and David's a good driver."

"Orders are orders, and I'm gonna make sure you get home in one piece."

She laughed and settled into the passenger's seat while Happy ran to his Harley. David closed the passenger door and walked around to the driver's side while Happy straddled his bike, strapped on his helmet, and started the motor.

As soon as the Harley's motor engaged, David started the Caddy's engine and flipped on the headlights, pulling sedately from the garage lot onto the street.

Happy maintained a discreet distance behind the Caddy as they traveled the quiet streets towards the house she shared with Alex. Instead of conversation, David had turned on the stereo, a cassette of Bruce Springsteen played _Thunder Road. _

Cat was briefly reminded of the night of the wreck, except she was the passenger and it was Happy, not Alex, who was watching out for her. She missed him greatly at that moment, hating the idea that he wasn't going to be there. 'It can't be helped so there's no sense in dwellin' on it.'

Happy parked his Harley on the street and jogged to the passenger side of the Caddy. "I see the Feds are gone."

"They hauled ass earlier today. I'm still not takin' any chances, though," she held out her palm, displaying the bug detector Alex had left with her.

Happy grunted and opened the car's back door, removing the guitar case and carry bag.

"I'll see y'all in the mornin'," she promised, waving goodbye as Girton pulled away.

Happy followed her to the front porch. He glanced at both the rental Chrysler and the _Black __Beauty_ sitting in the drive as Cat ran the detector around the porch.

"Tig mentioned a friend of yours is stayin' with ya," he observed, waiting as she unlocked the door. "That your new PT?"

"Yeah. The guy from the Lodi dealership delivered him this mornin'. That other Chrysler is June's car. She's doin' a temp gig at St. Thomas."

"How's Tig enjoyin' the trade show?"

Cat knew he was remarking on the cover story for the benefit of any listening devices. "He's havin' quite a time," she replied with a grin.

"I'll bet!" Happy retorted with a grin. He set the guitar case and bag on the floor of the living room near the door.

Cat quickly scanned the phones and the house. The detector showed all was clear and she gave Happy the thumbs up.

"I'm headin' out," Happy stated, turning towards the door. "Lock up after I leave," he added with a growl.

"Will do. Thanks, Happy. Couldn't have asked for a better bodyguard."

Happy grinned knowingly. "You're such a liar, Lady Cat! We both know you could've, but you didn't. I appreciate that you're giving me a chance."

He slipped out the door before she could reply and jogged to his bike. Cat smiled and closed the door, locking it behind him.

Jax left the clubhouse after the dinner to spend some 'quality time' with Tara, something they'd not taken time to do since the wake. He felt bad about treating her with indifference all day.

He'd been peeved when he saw her pull up in front of CPD. Unser had dropped the obstruction charges and released Jax from custody. He'd just greeted Clay and the others when she arrived. Jax hadn't hidden his dissatisfaction at seeing her and taken off to follow the club as soon as he could get away from her.

He was surprised to walk into the house to find Tara packing both a medical kit and her overnight bag. 'I know she's upset, but surely she's not plannin' on leavin' after all the effort she put into convincin' _me_ not to break up with her! She can't be _that_ pissed!'

To his relief, Tara explained that Gemma had asked her to come help with Nate. Jax was against the idea. He feared for Tara's career if she were caught aiding a Federal fugitive. He didn't voice his fear that the Feds might follow her and apprehend Gemma, but Tara knew he was thinking along those lines.

Tara harbored some resentment over Jax's behavior to her. He'd barely spoken to her before Sack's funeral, and acted as if he wanted to be anywhere but sitting next to her during the service. He'd spoken more words to her in the house that evening than in the entire day.

Jax played the male chauvinist card, forbidding her to go to Oregon. Tara countered that he didn't always get what he wanted. That retort came as an unpleasant surprise to Jax. 'First she shoots up Ima's car, then she trashes the nursery out of pique, now she talks back to me! Mom's rubbin' off on her and I'm not sure I like that!'

Tara asked what she should tell his mother about not coming up to help out. He sneered she could use her plan to take a six month leave of absence from work as an excuse. Satisfied that he'd won the argument, he stormed out of the house.

Tara didn't move until she heard the motorcycle engine fade in the distance. 'I'm not some Croweater you can order around!' She stormed out to her car, deposited her bags in the trunk, and took off for Oregon.

'Maybe a little more time on his own will bring him around!' she grumbled as the Olds passed the Charming town limits. 'Gemma needs my help. Tig's injured, and I'm the only one she trusts to treat him!'

Jax returned to the clubhouse in time to witness the musical collaboration between Bobby, David Girton, and Cat. He was impressed with their effort. The music seemed soothing and uplifting instead of funereal.

'Maybe I was a little too rough on Tara earlier,' he thought while drawing a deep drag on his cigarette. 'I'll call and apologize, see if she wants to hang out.'

Tara glared down at her personal cell phone. The caller ID showed the caller was Jax. She wrinkled her nose and tossed the phone back into her purse. "I'm not talking to you right now! We'll just fight, and I'm just not up to that."

Jax frowned when Tara's voice mail answered. 'She usually accepts my calls!' He tried several more times, growing more irritated when he received voice mail each time. 'OK, she's pissed. Maybe rightly so. I'll give her some coolin' off time.'

Several minutes after Cat and David Girton departed, Juice had taken a phone call then started industriously working on his laptop. Jax didn't give it a second thought, as Juice was often working on his computer on one project or another.

A few minutes later, Jax's curiosity was aroused when he happened to walk past the intel officer. Juice guiltily lowered the screen of the laptop so it couldn't be viewed.

'What's up with him?' Jax thought, drawing a deep lungful of cigarette smoke. Juice glanced out of the corner of his eye at Jax while the printer attached to the laptop spewed a piece of paper from its' bowels.

Jax inquired into the phone call Juice had taken on the landline. Though Juice tried to bluff his way out of confessing, he eventually told Jax about Tig's dilemma. He handed Jax the page he'd just printed, adding, "Serge just sent this by email. Thought you should see it."

His brothers crowded around as Jax gazed at the grainy black and white image of his son cradled in Cameron Hayes' arms. The photo had been taken from a surveillance camera at a train station in Vancouver, British Columbia.

'So Jimmy was telling the truth,' Jax thought. He didn't feel comforted by the idea. "Thanks, Juice. I'll see you guys later."

Jax rode straight home, intending to share the news with Tara. He thought she might appreciate knowing that Abel was unharmed. He pulled onto his street to find his pick – up was the only vehicle parked at the house.

'Maybe she went back to her place.' He rode over to Tara's house, but it was dark and silent. The Olds wasn't in the drive. 'I've got a bad feelin' about this!'

Tara enjoyed a few minutes of blessed relief from the ringing phone, though she knew the respite wouldn't last long. Sure enough, her phone started ringing again. She didn't even look at the caller ID, knowing it was Jax. The phone continued to ring, demanding her attention.

Tara snorted, grabbed the phone from her purse, turned it off, and tossed it back into the purse. She kept her eye open for any potential tails, which was a difficult task in the dark. She felt pretty certain that she'd managed to slip out of town without the Feds knowing, but didn't want to lead them directly to Gemma, either.

'Dammit! She's not gonna answer!' Jax sighed in frustration. When the voice mail came on again, he growled, "OK, I know where you're goin', despite my advice. At least let me know you got there a'right. And for God's sake, be careful!"

He shut off the phone and sat dejectedly at the kitchen table, staring at the black and white picture of his son and Cameron Hayes. He wondered how his life had descended into such a mess. 'Mom's on the lam, my old lady's flown the coop, and my son's missing. I've never felt so alone in my life!'

Kozik relaxed as Tig's old lady departed from the clubhouse. He'd nervously expected some kind of confrontation with her ever since she'd stepped into the clubhouse. He felt slightly let down that nothing had passed between them.

'She didn't even flip the bird at me! Not sure I like bein' ignored, but not sure I wanna be the center of _her_ attention, either!'

Clay glanced in amusement at Kozik. He'd seen how tense Kozik had been during Cat's visit to the clubhouse. He smirked when Kozik relaxed after the clubhouse door closed behind her.

"You're gonna have to make peace with her _and_ Tig before you transfer, man," he observed. "In case you didn't notice, Cat's not just Tig's old lady; she's a valued friend of the club."

"I noticed, a'right." Kozik sighed. "What makes ya think Tig's gonna let me patch in after last night?"

"You didn't do yourself any favors. Tig's not real happy about the idea, but said he would think about you patchin' in. He knows we need manpower and he'll do what's good for the club, regardless of his personal feelings."

"That and a dime won't even get me a thimble full of that whiskey blend coffee his old lady serves!" Kozik huffed.

'You might be right,' Clay thought, sipping his beer. "I _told_ you I'll make it happen. You've gotta quit workin' against me. Go back to Tacoma tomorrow, let me work on Tig and his old lady. Get some shut – eye, brother. I'll let you know when we have the vote so you can come back with your transfer letter."

Kozik recognized a dismissal when he heard it. "A'right, Clay." They performed the ritual 'bro hug double back thump' and Kozik sauntered off to the dorms.

Tig stalked along the garden pathway, not seeing the colorful array of flowers Nate had tended for years. He was intent on working off nervous energy and figuring out how to counteract the caregiver's attempt to destroy his life.

'I can't believe the gash expected I'd chose her over my woman _and_ my friend! She's damn lucky I didn't kill her!'

He made two complete circuits of the garden paths before he felt calm enough to call the clubhouse to talk to Juice. He knew he needed to present a cool demeanor, otherwise he'd be in for good – natured ribbing that he didn't want or need to hear.

'Cat always goes over the website orders and emails during the 'lull'. She doesn't touch 'em again until the next day, so she hasn't seen the gash's email. Juice has time to hack the website and delete whatever Amelia sent. It'll never bite me in the ass. More importantly, it'll never cause hurt to Cat. She doesn't need or deserve it.'

"SAMCRO clubhouse. Chuckie speaking!"

Tig could hear the usual buzz of activity in the background. "It's Tig. How ya feelin', man?"

"OK. A little sore. Miss Cat took good care of me last night. Made a tourniquet out of a rolled up handkerchief and insisted on taking me to the hospital. She even waited to take me back to the clubhouse!"

'Why am I not surprised?' Tig felt a sense of pride well up inside. "I _told_ you she takes care of her people!"

"But I'm not her employee," Chuckie pointed out.

"Doesn't matter. She's adopted you," Tig insisted. "Glad you weren't seriously hurt."

"I accept that. If you're calling to talk to her, she left a few minutes ago."

"What the Hell was she doin' there?" Tig roared. "She was supposed to be restin' at home before that fuckin' meeting!"

Chuckie winced at Tig's tone of voice, though his obvious concern was encouraging. "I accept that. The meeting ended hours ago; she was here with the high school music teacher. They were working with Bobby on something for Hale's funeral tomorrow. Apparently they're gonna perform with the choir."

'Shit! She's gonna wear herself out if she doesn't ease up!' Tig sighed inwardly. "Sorry to yell like that, man. She's not your concern."

"I accept that, Tig. We're all trying to watch out for her"

"Try being the key word," Tig replied grimly.

"If it makes you feel better, she let the music teacher drive her here. Clay sent Happy back with them to make sure she got home safe."

Tig was relieved by the news. "How's she doin', man? Tell me the God's honest truth."

"She was really pale during Prospect's service," Chuckie reported about her turning down a snack and how tired she'd looked during the ride to the cometary. "I was a little worried she wouldn't make it through the graveside service, but she hung in there. This day's really taken a lot out of her. She looked really tired and was moving like everything hurt this evening," he added.

"She's prolly hurtin' more than she wants anyone to know. She hates bein' fussed over. Hope she takes one of her pain pills tonight," Tig replied worriedly. "Thanks for the intel. Is Juice around?"

"Yeah. I'll get him for you."

Tig lit a cigarette and plopped onto the bench, laying the two – way next to him. He ran his hand through his hair as he waited for Juice to pick up the receiver.

"What's up, Tig?"

"Hey, Retard! Need you to hack into the coffeehouse website and delete an email that originated from here. Can ya do that without everybody findin' out about it?"

Juice briefly considered Tig's request. "I think so. It'd be a lot easier if you could give me an approximate time frame."

"Earlier this evening, after dark. Best I can do." Tig provided the email account and user name Amelia had used.

Juice shrugged. "OK. What kind of email am I lookin' for?"

"A nasty one. Amelia's rubbin' the fact that I tapped her in Cat's face. Amelia is Nate's caregiver," he replied bluntly. His tone dared Juice to make light of it.

"Damn, Tig! What_ is_ it about ya that women wanna make life difficult for Lady Cat? I don't see it myself!"

"Not your problem!" Tig growled. "Just get rid of the fuckin' email!"

"OK! OK! Take it easy, Tig! I'll get right on it. Wanna wait while I work on it?"

"Nah. Take down my throwaway number. Call me when you've deleted the fuckin' thing."

"Should only take me a few minutes," Juice assured him after taking down the phone number.

"The guys don't need to know anything about this."

"Gotcha, Tig."

Tig closed the throwaway and laid it on the bench next to him. He dug his wallet out of his back pocket, extracted the picture of Missy, and gazed at it, grieving his ancient loss of her.

"I still miss ya, baby," he crooned, rubbing one finger on the picture as if he could touch the dog's coat. "Sorry it took so long to spend some time with ya," he added, his cigarette dangling from his lips. He winced from the pain in his shoulder while his head beat like a bass drum, echoing the pain in his heart.

'I hope Juice can find that damn thing and get rid of it. Cat may accept what I do on the road, but that doesn't mean she has to be hurt by 'em.'

Tig eventually returned the picture to his wallet and sat with his head in his hands, trying to relieve the aches. He began to question Juice's ability to eliminate the email as minutes passed without a call back.

Alex was worried about Cat's physical well – being. The report he'd received from Chuckie didn't sound promising. 'She's just not strong enough to be doin' so much shit! I don't want her hurtin' herself; why the Hell did she agree to perform for Hale's funeral?'

He wanted nothing more than to talk with her, but he didn't want the spectre of worry over the email to be hanging around when he called her. 'It'll be the first time we'll be able to talk without worryin' about the Feds overhearin' from their stakeout.

He ran his hands through his hair and reached for the throwaway, unable to wait any longer for news on Juice's progress. Just as he picked it up, the throwaway signaled an incoming call.

He tossed the cigarette butt to the concrete and flipped open the throwaway. "What took so damn long? Were ya readin' every single email?"

"Had to check every one that came in during the time frame you gave me! Wanted to make sure I deleted the right one!" Juice explained.

"I'll just_ bet_ you did! Are you_ sure _she'll never see it?"

"Cat will never know unless you tell her about it," Juice assured him.

Tig closed his eyes in relief. "Was it as bad as I think it was?"

"Prolly worse. Women can get really vicious when they wanna be," Juice replied. "Why was the caregiver turnin' on your old lady?"

"She wasn't Cat," Tig replied quietly, turning off the throwaway.

Juice stared at the silent phone in his hand. 'Guess that's a good explanation," he mused, grinning as he turned off his cell phone. A faint chime alerted him to the arrival of a new email.

Jax strode up to Juice just as he sent the picture Serge had sent to the printer. "Who were ya talkin' to on the landline phone earlier," he inquired.

Juice's face reddened and he quickly shut the lid to his laptop before Jax could see the screen.

Jax frowned in consternation. "What the Hell is goin' on? Why the secrecy?"

"N- nothin'!" Juice stammered. "I – I just don't want ya ribbin' me about downloadin' porn!"

"Yeah, right!" Jax snorted, staring intently at the intel officer. "You lie like a rug, brother. What's the real story?"

Juice squirmed uncomfortably under Jax's relentless gaze. He debated whether he should risk Tig's ire later, or Jax's temper right away. Neither circumstance was desirable to him. 'Guess I'll deal with Tig's anger if it comes my way. Jax is right here, right now,'

He shrugged and replied, "Tig needed a favor. He was tappin' the caregiver for Gemma's dad. The gal wanted more than Tig wanted to give, found out about Lady Cat and tried to strike out at her via email. He asked me to hack into the coffeehouse website and destroy the email."

Jax shook his head. 'I'll never understand the effect Tig has on women!' His gaze darted to the paper in Juice's hand. "What's that?"

"It just came from Serge. Thought you'd want a hard copy," Juice replied, passing the photo to the VP as the rest of the club gathered around.

Cat tested the doors and windows to be sure they were secure and locked, a ritual Alex performed most nights. She then cleaned the litter boxes and left a bit of fresh kibble and water out for the felines.

Ebony trotted from the bedroom into the kitchen as soon as the first piece of kibble hit the bowl. He purred and rubbed against her leg before sticking his nose into the bowl.

"Be sure to save some for your siblings!" she laughed, bending to stroke the large black feline's silky fur.

His answer was to purr while crunching the tasty kibble, as if answering, "The Lord helps those who help themselves!"

She trudged past the partially open door to the library. A slight snore greeted her ears, though the bedside lamp was still on. Cat tiptoed in to turn off the light and petted Ming, who was curled up on June's feet.

"Keep Aunt June company, little one," she whispered, stroking the Siamese's sleek fur. Ming rubbed his whiskers along her fingers and purred contently, blinking his sapphire blue eyes at her before closing them and tucking his nose under his tail.

Misty had no interest in the fresh kibble. She sensed her person wasn't happy, and chose to follow her from the kitchen to the hallway and then the bedroom.

Cat felt worse than she had the night of the crash. "I wish Alex would call!" she murmured to the one – eyed black cat, who hopped up on the bed and mewed in agreement.

"I know, little girl. You miss him too." Misty curled up on the foot of the bed while Cat put the phones on their chargers and slipped out of her clothes.

"I'm damn near too tired to undress!" she mused, letting her clothes fall to the floor in a heap. She didn't even want to think about what she'd wear to Hale's funeral. 'Time enough to worry about that tomorrow!'

The various aches and pains from her previous injuries and Kozik's tackle made her head ache in sympathy. 'I'm gonna take one of the pain pills from the hospital and call it a night. I hate the idea of not gettin' to talk to Alex. Hope he'll understand that I'm just not up to it if he gets the voice mail.'

She picked up the two – way and pressed the 'record message' button. "Hey, love! Sorry not to be talkin' to y'all. I felt a little puny and took one of the hospital's pain pills. Don't worry, I'm OK. Miss y'all; hope things are goin' well. I'll talk to ya when I talk to ya and see ya in your dreams. Love ya."

Cat donned a loose gown and sank gratefully onto the mattress, pulling the covers over her. Misty crept up to her side and settled next to her leg.

Cat considered turning off the bedside lamp, but didn't want to fumble in the dark if she did manage to hear the two – way ring. She felt drowsy from the medicine, and doubted the soft light would prevent her from sleeping.

The music system and alarm was set to turn itself off in an hour. She'd put in a tape of music that made her wish Alex was home with her instead of far away in Klamath Falls.

Alex relaxed once he knew that Cat would never read nor be hurt by the caregiver's email. He smiled in anticipation and pressed 'send' on the two – way.

Cat was nearly asleep when the two – way announced Alex's call. She groped for it with her good hand, bringing it to her ear and activating it before the call went to voice mail.

"Hey!" she murmured sleepily.

"Hey back!" Alex winced at the obvious pain and fatigue in her voice. "Did I wake you, baby?" He could hear the Lady Antebellum song in the background. 'Wonder if she's tryin' to tell me something. That's the second time she's played that when I've called.'

"No love. I wasn't asleep yet," she replied. "How are y'all?"

"I'm fine, baby. I hear you've been busy today!" his gruff admonishment reflected his concern for her, making her feel secure and protected despite the miles that separated them.

"Checkin' up on me, love?"

"I have my ways of findin' things out," he replied languidly. "You did way too much again, woman! If you're not careful, you're gonna wear yourself out and land up back in the hospital!"

"Stop beatin' your chest, Tarzan," she retorted. "It's been kinda crazy around here lately. Things should settle down after tomorrow."

"I hope so. You have that appointment with the eye doctor tomorrow mornin' don't ya?"

'Shit! Forgot all about that. Gonna have to cancel; the kids come first,' she winced. "Nope. It's been postponed," she replied airily.

"What the Hell? Why?" Alex growled.

"Scheduling conflict, love. It happens. June's gonna take me to the service tomorrow, so you don't have to worry about me drivin'."

"I also heard you're gonna be singing at the thing," he grumbled irritably. "Can't somebody else do it?"

She snorted in aggravation. "Dammit! Have y'all put the whole damn town on retainer to spy on me?" She winced at the shrewish tone in her voice.

"Not really," he replied gently. "I just happened to check in at the clubhouse. Chuckie filled me in."

"I'm sorry, love," she murmured apologetically. "Didn't mean to play the bitch queen on y'all. Guess I'm a little outta sorts."

"A _little_?" He grinned wickedly. "I guess havin' a big lunk like Kozik land on you might have somethin' to do with it. I'd be outta sorts, too. Was he there tonight?"

"Yeah, guess he's stayin' the night and headin' back in the mornin'. We ignored each other. I'll admit it was awfully temptin' to smash the guitar over his head."

Alex laughed outright. "I'm glad you didn't go 'El Kabong' on him. Your guitar's too good for him!"

Her eye closed and she fought to keep it open. "To answer your previous question, love, the CBOA volunteered my services for the funeral." Before he could react with a volcanic eruption, she hastily changed the subject to ask, "How's Gemma handlin' the situation with her father?"

"She's tryin' her best, but it's tough. Guess seein' how drastically her father's changed is kinda upsettin'." Alex replied, accepting her abrupt change of topic, though he was still annoyed that she'd been forced into performing in her condition.

"I don't know which is worse, seeing a drastic change, or witnessin' a continual deterioration of a loved one," Cat observed, thinking of her step-mother's own losing battle with Alzheimer's.

Alex knew she was thinking of the wheelchair bound woman who shared his love for Snicker bars and called him by Cat's deceased first husband's name during their visit to Indiana. "Neither one is a pleasant experience, baby," he sighed. "It's really been hard for Gemma."

He could hear Blake Shelton's '_Home'_ in the background. It made him feel a little homesick for her and his safe haven. "Have ya talked to Mom since the crash?"

"Earlier today, squeezed it in between missions," she replied. "She doesn't remember from one minute to the next that I was in a wreck, so Daddy and I have given up explainin' it to her. They send y'all their love."

"Mom still refers to me as 'Bill', doesn't she?"

"Yeah. Thanks for not takin' offense, love," she sighed.

"Hell, it's just a name," he shrugged off her gratitude, though it made him feel less homesick.

"How'd Gemma take the news about Hale comin' so soon after Kip's death?"

"She's upset about it. Jax and Hale were good buddies as kids, played at each other's houses and shit. It bothered her to miss Sack's funeral, and she's not happy about havin' to miss Hale's."

"Hmmm," Cat murmured through another yawn. "I'll post a video of Hale's service on my private You Tube account so Gemma can pay her respects."

"Aw, c'mon, baby! Don't put yourself out like that! She'll get over it!" Alex protested. 'Dunno why I'm wastin' my breath. She's gonna do it no matter what I say!'

"It's not a major production, love," she assured him. "The digital camera can take movies, I'll just have to be sure the memory card is clear."

"Are ya sure, baby?" he asked softly. 'I appreciate her offer. It'll make Gemma feel a little less outta the loop. I just don't want her pushin' herself!'

There was a long silence, broken only by her deep, even breathing and the song _'A Matter of Time''_. "Cat? Baby?" He called over the cell waves. "You goin' to sleep on me?"

Cat jerked awake. "Nah. Just takin' a long blink," she murmured tiredly. "Any idea how long all y'all are stayin' there?"

"Nah. Nate's movin' into the nursing home in a couple of days, not sure what we're doin' after that."

"Thought you said he had a live – in caregiver!"

"He does, but Gemma's mom had things set up all neat and legal before she died. There's already a buyer for the house!"

"Prudent, I suppose," Cat replied wearily.

Alex barked a derisive laugh. "That's one diplomatic way of lookin' at it, baby!"

"So y'all are gonna try to spirit Gemma across the Northern border I take it?"

"You're really not up to talkin' about this tonight, baby!" Alex protested. "It'll just upset ya!"

"I'll miss y'all, but know damn well y'all have no other choice. It's too far to run to the Southern border," she quietly assured him. "Y'all are gonna have to stay on the move to keep the Feds off Gemma's tail once Nate's settled."

"Why the Hell did ya ask if ya already knew the answer?" he growled.

"Just to hear y'all speak fluent alpha male," she laughed.

"You little devil! You wouldn't be so bold if I were there in person!"

"Promises, promises!" she retorted. "Gotta give y'all somethin' to look forward to comin' home to!" Her voice softened as she added, "Give Gemma my best, will ya?"

"Sure will, baby." Alex felt like an asshole for wanting to keep her on the line when she was in obvious pain, but he couldn't find it in him to end the call.

"Gotta question for you. Why didn't you tell me you've been helpin' Tina Lou?"

"It never came up in the conversation. What were y'all doin' on the website?"

'Shit!' Alex's hand massaged the bridge of his nose. "Didn't figure it would arouse suspicion to use the internet from the Madoc computer," he supplied quickly. "Gave me a reason to look at the coffeehouse website."

"You just don't wanna admit you miss me, Man of Mayhem," she retorted teasingly.

"Why admit what you already know, woman?" Alex replied haughtily, his voice gruff from the sudden lump in his throat. "Adrian did a damn decent portrait of Sack."

"I'll pass that on. He'll appreciate it," she murmured. "As for Tina Lou, she's SAMCRO family. It's been a good business venture for both of us."

"Dammit, woman! I can't believe you didn't tell me!" Alex's voice was filled with admiration for her. He was proud of her for not mentioning that she was helping a dead brother's wife and child. "Why do you keep surprisin' me?"

"So y'all never get bored with me, love."

"Cat, baby, I've told ya before I can _never _get bored with you," he replied. "Quit tryin' to prove me wrong; you're gonna lose every time."

"Maybe that's one loss I don't mind repeatedly sufferin'!" she retorted.

He grinned wolfishly. "I'm gonna really enjoy dishin' out that loss to ya on a frequent basis!" He sighed and continued, "Listen, baby, I want you to do a favor for me."

"I'm surprised y'all are willin' to trust me after the way I balked over the last favor y'all asked for," she yawned.

"I don't wanna hear that shit, baby!" He growled. "You had damn good reason for bein' cautious about the money. Ya came through for me in the end, that's what counts!"

There was another long pause, filled with deep, even breathing and a light snore.

"C'mon, Baby! Can't ya stay with me a little longer?" Alex pleaded.

"Huh?" His voice startled her awake. "I'm sorry, love. Took one of the pain pills the hospital sent home."

"Why the fuck didn't ya say somethin' earlier?" he snarled. 'Shit! She must be really hurtin' to rely on one of those!'

"It didn't - "

"- come up in the conversation," he interjected wryly.

"You catch on fast, love!" she laughed. "So what do y'all want me to do?"

"Promise me that you'll take some time to yourself after Hale's funeral. Keep away from everything and everyone for a day and get strong."

"_Everyone_?"

He could imagine her eyebrow raising to her fringe as it always did when she teased him. He realized he'd left himself open for a verbal harpoon. "You know better than that, woman! I'm not everyone!" He waited for the proverbial other shoe to drop, and she didn't disappoint him.

"I'll certainly give it more than the consideration it merits!" she replied playfully.

'I knew it!' Alex's hand massaged the bridge of his nose again. "I'm serious, baby! Please?"

"The notorious bad – ass Tig Trager actually said 'please'!" she laughed. "How can I refuse?"

"You can't," he replied smugly. "And you won't."

"If that's the way you're gonna be, love, y'all can eat dead air!" she exclaimed. "Miss y'all, husband. Sleep tight," she whispered softly before turning off the two – way.

Alex stared at the silent two – way in his hand. "G'nite, wife. I miss you, too," he murmured in the same tone of voice he's used to commune with Missy.

He closed the two – way and returned to the house, pausing by the basement door. The only thing he could hear was the muted sound of the radio. He nodded in satisfaction and headed to his room, looking forward to a Vicodin to relieve his physical pain and dreams of his wife to relive the pain in his heart.

Jacob Hale strode through the door of his posh home and tossed his briefcase and suit jacket on a chair. Lights wired to the security system automatically come on when he entered his pass code into the keypad.

He walked into the den, heading straight to the bar and poured two fingers of liquor into a glass which he downed in one swallow. He poured another shot and carried it to his favorite chair.

His house was a monument to his success as a businessman. It was filled with luxurious furnishings. Everything was of the finest quality, no price was too high to pay.

The only thing that marred the perfection was the continued existence of SAMCRO. The club's continued presence was a monument to his failure to eradicate the MC's influence on the town.

"But it's not going to last much longer!" Hale swore, hefting the glass in a salute at nothing and downing it in one gulp. 'Most of this town are like easily led like sheep. All I have to do is plant the right seeds in the right places, and the tide of popular opinion will swing against SAMCRO.'

He removed his cell phone from his pants pocket and a business card from his wallet. He dialed the number on the card.

"This is Stahl."

"I've decided to try your idea. Three members of the council are voting with me."

"That's not good enough. What about the mayor and the other three council members?"

Hale laughed nastily. "The mayor can't run for another term. The council members are. They'll see things my way when they realize that voting against revoking SAMCRO's bail will make it more difficult to keep their seats."

Stahl snorted. "Especially if someone runs against them on the Republican ticket!"

"Tomorrow we take our petition to the court. SAMCRO will be back at the SJCCF before the end of the week."

Hale closed the cell phone before Stahl could reply. He returned to the bar and poured a healthy serving of brandy into a crystal snifter, then returned to his chair. He smiled in satisfaction. "Here's to a turning of the tide in my favor!"

Tyler stepped into the bedroom, a quizzical expression on her face. She'd heard June's phone, and caught most of her end of the conversation.

"What was all that about? Who called?"

"Just someone from the office," Stahl replied off handedly. "Nothing important." Her eyes didn't meet Tyler's, shifting to the muted news program on the television screen.

'I'll bet! You're planning something against that club again! I don't like this at all!' Tyler crossed the room to her side of the bed and slipped between the sheets.

"I've got some paperwork to finish, baby. Will the light disturb you?" Stahl asked solicitously.

"No. Go ahead. I'm kind of tired tonight," Tyler faked a yawn and turned her back on her lover. "Good night."

"'nite, baby." Stahl slid against Tyler's covered body, holding the unyielding form close to her. "I'm sorry about earlier, baby. I didn't mean to snap at you."

"I know. It was the stress of the demotion talking," Tyler sighed. "I'm not mad; just really tired."

"We're OK?" Stahl whispered, nuzzling the back of Tyler's neck with her lips.

"We're OK."

Stahl patted Tyler's side and sat up, leaning against the head of the bed. She opened one of the file folders lying in front of her.

'I didn't handle things well earlier. She's getting suspicious. Hate to lose a good lay, but can't afford for her to get _too _curious. The first opportunity I get, she's history!'

Kozik lay on his borrowed bed in the SAMCRO guest rooms, his hands laced behind his head, staring at the ceiling. He'd slipped away from the main area of the clubhouse without the Croweater who'd been his constant companion during the evening.

'She looked fine, prolly a good lay, but I've got too much to think about to fuck around!'

He knew he'd burned his bridges with SAMTAC after arguing with the president. Kozik knew the man would be more than willing to sign off on the letter of transfer.

'I won't be wearin' this SAA patch for SAMTAC much longer! But if I can't persuade Tig to change his mind about me, I won't be wearin' a SAMCRO patch, either!'

He tried to find comfort in the possibility of transferring to a nearby charter. 'Nomad means a lot more ridin' than I really wanna do. Can't turn to SAMPOR'; they're too attached to Tig's woman. SAMRRO might not be too bad. Close enough to home, but far enough from Tacoma.'

His thoughts turned from his future to the present. "How the Hell am I gonna get Tig to agree to let me patch in? It was gonna be hard enough with Missy's death and that first disastrous visit with his old lady. After last night, he prolly wants my head on a platter."

Kozik slowly began to realize that his only chance to patch back in with SAMCRO was to change his attitude towards Tig.

'We've been at each other's throats for a long time, taunting and hating each other. If Tig's gonna allow me to share a patch with him, I've gotta prove myself all over again. I can't rely on Clay's friendship, or on Tig doin' what's right for the club."

"What time is your appointment with the eye surgeon?" June inquired over coffee in the master bedroom. It was becoming their morning ritual; she'd feed the cats while the coffee brewed, then bring in coffee so her and Cat to catch up on the previous day's news.

"It's not. I've gotta go practice the song with the combined high school choir," Cat replied. "Already canceled the appointment. Dr. Smythe wasn't too pleased."

"I'll bet he wasn't the only one!" June grinned.

"You'd win that bet," Cat agreed, sipping more of the hot beverage.

"How do y'all feel?"

"Like I was rode hard and put up wet. I'll have to drive myself to the high school. I'll come home and let y'all drive to the funeral service."

June frowned at that nugget of information. "I'll bet Alex doesn't know y'all are gonna do that. He wouldn't be too happy about it."

"Another bet you'd win. Maybe you should buy a lottery ticket. You've got quite a lucky streak goin' on!"

"Smart ass! It's against my better judgment to let y'all do it. I'm tempted to tell Alex!"

"But y'all won't. Ya don't wanna hear him rant and rave any more than I do! Do y'all mind if Adrian and Pete ride with us to the service?" Cat inquired.

"Nah. What about your friend Chuckie?"

"He's gonna be ridin' with Piney in the garage's van. I'm takin' the digital camera along to record the service. Alex mentioned Gemma was kinda upset about Hale's passin'."

June quivered at the idea. "I don't get it. Why record the thing? Seems a little gruesome to me."

"Gemma's son, Jax, was good buddies with Hale when they were kids. She's takin' his death kinda hard. I figured to post the video on the website so she could pay her respects."

"Oh," June's eyes misted over. "I didn't think of it like that."

"It's no different than watchin' Reagan's funeral on tee vee, kittenface," Cat explained softly.

June rose and walked to the bedroom door. "Want me to load the guitar and carry bag in the car for you?"

Cat shook her head. "I'm not takin' the guitar to the school. We'll worry about loadin' the car later."

"OK. You be careful drivin', chick."

"I will. Promise." Cat smiled and held up three fingers in the Girl Scout salute.

"I don't find that very comfortin', even though I know y'all were a Scout!" June snorted before retreating down the hall.

Cat laughed and rose from the bed. After wrapping her cast in the plastic and clumsily taping it down, she stepped into the tub, forgoing the whirlpool portion. She managed to wash and shampoo and rinse her hair one handed, though it was an awkward endeavor.

After drying off, she checked the outfit she'd worn to Kip's service, deciding it was still presentable. She ran the outfit through the dryer with a fabric sheet for a few minutes to freshen it, then dressed and slipped into her corduroy duster before stepping out the back door to the coffeehouse.

The muted buzz of conversation met her as Cat entered through the back door. She already knew from Pete's call that the reporters had chosen to camp out at her establishment again in between broadcasts.

She entered the front area, accepting and giving greetings to the clientèle. She was happy to see James Windover had returned and waved pleasantly at him.

"Thought you might be interested in knowing that many of the reporters stopped at the hospital yesterday to donate to the blood bank," he informed her.

"Really? That's nice," Cat replied. "Especially since all y'all have certainly helped the local economy. But I won't be sad not to see y'all after today, except on the teevee screen!"

Windover lifted his mug to her in a mock salute. "The cops are being very tight lipped about the identity of the left behind shooter. Understand the charges against the club member that beat the shooter were dropped."

"Do tell," Cat drawled innocently. "I heard Jax was released. Guess the police couldn't see chargin' someone for doin' what they felt like doin'."

"C'mon, Cat! Surely you know more than that!" Windover pleaded.

"Sorry, I don't," she replied. "And don't call me 'Shirley'!"

Windover groaned over the pun while she poured some whiskey blend for herself and departed to the back. She checked the store room, pleased to find the stock of roasted beans was still plentiful.

'Looks like Tina Lou's been busy. I'll take one of the large sized trio to Reese later today.'

"Everything's going along fine, Miss Cat. But we're going to need to do some baking this Saturday," Pete informed her.

"Things oughta slow down a bit after today," she replied. "But we'll plan on baking and roasting between customers. We might not be able to get more bread from Bobby."

"They're still looking for Abel, aren't they?"

She nodded, her eyes blazing in renewed anger at Stahl. "Better plan on adding bread mix to the grocery list. We'll bake it and sell it as Bobby's brand for the time being. I don't wanna burden him with mundane stuff at the moment."

Pete nodded sagely. "By the way, the manager of concessions at Stockton Prison called. He wants you to write up a presentation for packaging the baked goods you're going to sell at the prison. Said he needs it by the end of the week. Sounds like you're a step closer to another source of income."

'I can smell Stahl's influence all over this! She's gonna be disappointed when she doesn't get what she wants in return!' She nodded again. "Guess I'll get started on the web orders."

"Something I need to ask you about the website. Did you go into the emails last night?"

Cat frowned. "No. Why do you ask?"

"I printed the web orders and emails for you this morning and found fewer emails than usual. In fact, there were none from about dusk until nearly 1130 last night, then they started up again."

"Maybe the web was down?"

Pete shook his head. "I thought of that, but the web orders are also time stamped. A bunch of 'em came in during that time frame. I went into the old mail and found a slew of 'em there."

Cat frowned intently. "That sounds like someone hacked into the website! Doubt it was the Feds, they'd be smart enough to leave the website lookin' untouched. Glad all the orders are paid through Paypal!"

Pete nodded. "Me, too. Bet the hackers weren't pleased about that! I didn't contact CPD yet, thought I'd talk to you first."

"No need. The hacker got nothin' for their trouble and CPD's got enough on their mind right now. I'm not even goin' to consider talkin' to the Feds about this!"

"That's not such a good idea, darlin'!" Stahl drawled languidly from the doorway. "Hacking is a Federal offense."

"Do y'all have a problem with reading?" Cat snarled. "This area is for employees only!"

"Which, if you want to get technical, I am. Your taxes do pay _my_ salary," Stahl laughed unkindly.

"Whatever," Cat nodded at Pete, giving him leave to return to his duties up front.

Pete glared at the agent as he slipped past her.

"I just love the welcoming atmosphere I find here!" Stahl sneered, moving from the doorway towards Cat's office, settling into the chair next to her desk.

"Why don't y'all make yerself at home?" Cat snarled, reaching into her inner coat pocket to activate the voice memo on the Iphone.

"Thank you. Don't mind if I do," Stahl looked around the office with a practiced eye. "Very organized. I'm impressed."

"Sorry to disappoint y'all." Cat sank carefully into her own chair, drawing the pile of web orders and emails in front of her. 'Maybe she'll get the hint and leave, though I doubt it.'

"Not disappointed in the least," Stahl replied. "Not even surprised."

"Cut the crap, Stahl. I've gotta lot to do today, and playin' word feud with y'all ain't on the agenda! What do y'all want?"

"Answers. But I know I won't get 'em. I came here with some news for you. Bad news, I'm afraid."

"Oh?" Cat looked directly at the agent with her good eye, meeting the agent's gaze without flinching.

"Your old man's going to be returning to jail soon on the assault charge from the Christian Center," Stahl announced gleefully. "That's not gonna be good for him on top of aiding Gemma in her flight."

"Still smokin' that wildwood weed, aren't y'all?" Cat retorted, her expression not giving away her displeasure at the news. "Y'all know damn good and well the DA can't file charges if no one's willin' to testify. We both know there's proof that the Sons didn't fire the first shot!"

Stahl leaned forward in her chair. "You think you're funny. You're only mildly amusing. As we speak, Jacob Hale is meeting with the city council about a petition to request the judge to revoke SAMCRO's bail. Given what's been going on around here lately, they'll be back in the SJCCF and Tig will be wanted on a Federal warrant."

"Guess we'll see about that," Cat replied archly, tapping the sheath of papers on her desk.

"Ever the optimist, aren't you?"

Cat shrugged. "I doubt that a judge in his or her right mind will send SAMCRO back to jail just on the say – so of a political candidate and his cronies. Provided Hale can get the other council members to agree, that is!"

"You're good, kid. Cool as a cucumber. Call Rosen's office if you don't want to believe me. He should have the news from the mayor by now." Stahl rose fluidly from the chair and strutted to the door. She stopped at the threshold and turned to look over her shoulder.

"I'd invite you to have a nice day, but don't want to come off as a hypocrite."

"Do me a favor and let the door hit ya on the ass on the way out!" Cat snarled, jumping to her feet and slamming the office door on Stahl's backside.

Stahl jumped out of the way just in time to avoid getting hit by the door. A sly smile of triumph crossed her face. "See you later at the service!"

Pete appeared at the entrance to the back area, a deep scowl on his face. "Agent Stahl, you need to leave. Miss Cat says your patronage is no longer welcome. Please leave before I have to have you charged with trespass."

Stahl smiled grimly and walked past Pete, condescendingly patting his cheek. "You're cute. I was leaving anyway. My job's done here - for the moment."

The Sons morning started with a meeting with the Grim Bastards. SAMCRO brought the Lodi MC up to speed on the Mayan/Calvarez plans to run drugs to Stockton.

TO agreed to do some further digging and asked for help with assault weapons to use against the threatened uprising. Clay explained AK's weren't available, but MP5's were a possibility.

As the Grim Bastards were leaving, Lucas pulled up in the Navigator to deliver the last load of guns the Sons would be running North for awhile. The guns were already packed in bedrolls and quickly transferred from the SUV to the van.

Jax asked Lucas if he'd talked to Jimmy about the photo. Lucas acknowledged that Cameron Hayes couldn't travel by plane, but all indications were that he was still in North America and the IRA didn't get involved in specific beefs. Jax had difficulty believing Jimmy's lieutenant. He couldn't prove it, but he knew he was being played and didn't like it.

Clay knew his step – son was hanging on to his temper by a slim thread. He watched Jax pace about as the guns were transferred from the SUV to the van. He decided that they needed to have Serge do some more digging with his Canadian contacts; the picture was three days old, they needed more up to date intel.

The Sons stopped in at Henry Lin's restaurant to inquire into the MP5's. Lin's place was set up to entertain his Hong Kong associates. Lin had MP5's available for a price. SAMCRO arranged a deal with Lin, guns and money in exchange for a few hours' of the Caracara girls' time with the Hong Kong guests.

The girls were to present themselves later that afternoon. 'That's gonna cut it close for the funeral, but we should be OK,' Bobby mused. 'Maybe I'll even get laid if Lin has some Asian pussy on the menu!'

Piney had stayed in Charming and traveled to Floyd's for his weekly trim. Floyd was finishing with Unser when Piney walked in. Three other civilians were waiting their turn and talking to Unser about Hale's funeral.

When Piney settled on a bench between two of the civilians, they hastily stood up and rushed out the door, followed by a third who'd been sitting near the door.

Unser walked out behind the departing customers as Piney settled apologetically into the barber's chair. Floyd assured Piney the snub was just a temporary thing because the townspeople were scared over the drive – by.

Piney grunted a response while he witnessed Unser and Jacob Hale talking cordially on the sidewalk in front of Floyd's establishment. Floyd followed Piney's gaze and sighed.

"Hale's been up and down Main Street telling anyone who will listen that the Sons are at fault for his brother's death. He's relying on the sympathy card."

"Seems like people forget who brought LOAN here in the first place," Piney mused, frowning ed at the sight of Unser and Hale shaking hands. 'I've got a bad feelin' about that!'

Nate awoke to a rare moment of clarity. He knew that his life had changed for the worse, and that Rose had died. He even remembered how she'd died. The memory made him feel ashamed and worthless.

'I killed her, just like I almost killed Gemma's friend! I'm no use to anyone! God forgive me, but I don't want to live like this!'

He didn't respond to Gemma's cheerful good morning, just accepted the coffee she's poured for him with a nod.

"Amelia's sleeping in, she got in late last night," Gemma informed him, covering for the caregiver's absence. Gemma had checked on Amelia after she'd gotten up, given the caregiver the bedpan, and fed her juice and toast.

Amelia didn't mention Tig's visit the night before. She remaining quiet and refused to respond to any of Gemma's attempts at conversation.

"A friend of mine arrived earlier this morning," Gemma added. "She's a doctor and will take a look at Tig's shoulder."

"I shot him," Nate acknowledged softly.

"It was an accident, Daddy," Gemma hastened to assure him, surprised that he remembered. "Tig understands."

Nate nodded sadly, sipping his coffee and staring off into space as if he'd slipped back into his own world again.

Gemma sighed wearily and sipped at her own coffee.

"They tend to slip in and out like that," Tara explained softly from the doorway. "One minute, the person seems to be quite lucid, the next, they're back to a time where they feel safe."

"I know," Gemma replied, getting up to take her coffee cup to the sink. "It's just hard to see him like this."

Tara moved forward to lay a hand on Gemma's shoulder. Silent tears of hurt and frustration slid down Gemma's cheeks. Neither woman noticed Nate get up from the table and head into the living room.

His daughter's obvious distress made Nate's depression worse. He collected his car keys and headed for the study. He passed Tig's bedroom door, which was still closed.

'That woman who was talking to Gemma must be her doctor friend. I'm glad she has someone here to treat the boy. That doesn't excuse the fact that I could've killed him!'

Fresh shame washed over Nate. 'I'm a danger and a burden to everyone around me! I couldn't save Rose, I can't help myself anymore. I just want to go Home!'

The gun wasn't in the closet. He remembered Gemma had taken the gun from him. 'She probably hid it in the garage.' He walked slowly back down the hall and out the front door, going around the house to the adjoining garage. The Cadillac was parked in front of it. He used the remote control on his key fob to unlock the car.

He found the rifle wrapped in a blanket in the trunk, along with the box of shells. Nate smiled in satisfaction, closed the trunk, and walked around to the driver's door. He slid behind the wheel and started the engine, backing out of the garage and heading into the country.

Cat glared at the closed door of her office, her hands shaking in anger. 'No matter how much I respect law enforcement, I really hate that bitch! She's the worse kind of manipulator!' She reached for the phone and dialed Rosen's number.

"Cat Marshall here, is Rosen in?" she address the receptionist.

"He's in court. His partner, Ms. Lowen is available."

Cat had worked with Ally Lowen before. She liked that the attorney was outspoken and direct, something rarely found in many lawyers. "I'll be happy to speak with her."

"One moment please," the receptionist put her on hold. Cat prepared herself to endure unending minutes of Muzak, but the attorney surprised her by immediately taking the call.

"I know why you're calling, Cat. Rosen just got the call from the mayor's office. Hale got the majority by one vote."

"Shit!" Cat's good hand rubbed her forehead. "Have y'all told Clay yet?"

"I'm getting ready to head out there. Wanted to tell him in person."

"It's going to be another low blow in a series of 'em. I understand Hale's grief, but he's usin' his brother's death for his own gain. That sucks!"

"You're preaching to the choir, Cat. Afraid there's nothing we can do about it, except for me to argue against the bail revocation at the hearing."

'I can think of somethin' that can be done about it, at least for the primary!' Cat thought angrily. "Let me know if you find out the name of the councilor that gave Hale the majority."

"I'll do that, Cat." Lowen hung up the phone and sighed. "She took _that_ news better than I expected. Don't think Clay will take it as easily. Might as well get this over with. Hope he doesn't believe in shooting the messenger!"

After meeting with Lin, Clay and Chibs returned to the garage while Jax and the others rode out to confer with Serge. He and Juice had surfed the internet and touched base with Serge's Canadian contacts, digging for current intel on Cameron Hayes, aka Timothy O'Dell.

Unfortunately, the intel was old, and Cameron Hayes seemed to have pulled a vanishing act after staying one night at hotel in Vancouver four days earlier.

Serge explained that bounty hunting was only legal in the US, citing the famous Duane "Dog" Chapman's experience with capturing a fugitive in Mexico. He suggested the Sons hire a mercenary to look for Cameron and Abel. It would cost 10 thousand dollars to start, payable in advance, but his contact was a good tracker.

Jax glanced at Opie, Bobby, and Juice. They'd have the money from the agreement with Lin, so Jax gave Serge the go ahead to contact the mercenary.

'It's the first time I feel hopeful about finding my kid,' Jax felt like a small weight had been lifted from his shoulders as he dared to hope that he'd soon be reunited with his child.

"Darn your hides, people!" David Girton shouted in frustration. He shook his head to clear it. 'It's not the kids' fault. They're trying their best, I didn't think carrying a melody different from the accompaniment would be a problem.'

The choir remained silent, some lowered their heads. They knew the selection was important, and wanted to make it work as much as their teacher. They kept picking up the U2 melody instead of the original one. No matter how many times they tried, the same thing kept happening.

Cat had been listening quietly to the practice, allowing Girton to run the show. She had an idea that might help the kids overcome the obstacle. "David, mind if I have a crack at 'em?" she called out.

"Be my guest!" he sighed, plopping onto the piano bench and covering his eyes with his hand.

Cat moved slowly out to the director's stand, gazing at the teens in front of her. They looked dejected and as frustrated as their teacher.

"First, relax. All y'all are tense, and that's not helpin'. Close your eyes and take a few deep breaths."

The choir complied with her. All of them knew her from the coffeehouse and trusted her. Many had performed at the peace rally.

"What we're doin' is called 'samplin'' in the music business. Hip – hop artists have done it for years, and several rock artists have combined two songs before. Is there anyone here not familiar with Kid Rock's _'All Summer Long'_?"

Cat wasn't surprised that no one raised their hand. "That's an example of what I'm talkin' about," she stated. "The lyrics are the only original thing about that song. He's usin' the music from two 1970's hits under the lyrics, but if all y'all really listen, he's not singin' either melody."

The choir looked at each other, then cast quizzical and somewhat dubious glances back at her.

"I'll prove it. Anyone got an Ipod?"

None of the students moved a muscle.

Cat grinned mischievously. "C'mon, y'all. I'm not gonna rat, neither will Mr. Girton!"

Several tentative hands went up.

Cat grinned again. "First one who finds a version of Lynyrd Skynrd's _'Sweet Home Alabama' _and raises their hand gets a free drink of their choice from the coffeehouse!"

Ipods suddenly appeared in the rows of choir members. One enterprising student reached into his knapsack and brought out his Ipad. The students' fingers flew as they activated the controls, scrolling through their play lists.

"I've got the Kid Rock song!" One student called out, waving her hand energetically.

"Close, but no cigar. But hang on to that thought, darlin'," Cat replied encouragingly.

The Ipad student's hand shot into the air. "I've got it! I've got it!"

"What's your name, darlin'?" Cat inquired, taking out her Iphone and accessing the email application.

"Jack Diel," he replied.

She tapped the name into an email draft. "Same offer to whoever finds Warren Zevon's _'Werewolves of London'_!"

Girton realized what Cat was up to and smiled appreciatively. 'Don't know why I didn't think of this myself, but she can add the incentive that I don't have to offer!'

Another guy's hand shot up in the air. "I've got it! I've got it!"

"And your name, darlin'?"

"Jeff Clark,"

Cat tapped his name into her Iphone. She turned to the girl and requested her name, which she tapped into the Iphone, pressed 'save' for the draft, and returned the phone to her pocket.

"OK, you three will get your drinks anytime after today. You'll have to show your ID to my staff," she announced.

The winning students beamed in delight and anticipation. They appreciated the way she'd protected their win without suggesting anyone would try to cheat.

"OK, the rest of you, time to put your electronics away." After the students complied, Cat pointed to Jack and asked him to play the Skynyrd selection. "Turn the volume up enough that we can all hear," she added.

Jack complied, and the unmistakable guitar riff blared from the small components speaker. After a few beats, Cat indicated he could pause the song, then pointed to Jeff Clark. "Your turn, darlin'."

Jeff activated the Zevon cut, and several piano notes rang out. Cat motioned for Jeff to pause his selection and pointed to the young woman who'd found the Kid Rock hit.

"Now, before Miss Ty plays '_All Summer Long_', I want all y'all to pay particular attention to the three melodies, and how they all blend. Close your eyes, open your ears, and listen hard."

The students closed their eyes, except for Miss Ty, who watched for Cat's signal. She activated her Ipod and held it up so the class could hear the music.

A four – count percussion riff started the song, followed by the piano notes from the Warren Zevon cut. A few beats later, Kid Rock's lyrics began. The guitar riff could also be heard in the first verse.

The kids were nodding their heads and tapping their fingers to the beat. After the first stanza ended, Cat indicated for Ty to pause her device.

"Do all y'all see what I'm talkin' about?"

The choir murmured an affirmative.

"Now, if an old man like Kid Rock can handle three melodies, and an old lady like me can handle two, surely all y'all can easily conquer merging one melody with another, right?"

The choir looked at each other, then at Cat and their teacher, before declaring a rousing agreement.

"Then let's give it a go!" she cried, indicating that Girton should resume the podium. He had rewound the tape the group had made the night before to the beginning.

"Cat, if you'll do the honors?" he pointed to the recorder. She turned it on and he indicated the choir should stand.

The choir began the first verse, then the pre - recorded guitars began playing the U2 intro. At the bridge, the choir brought forth the _Minstral Boy _verse and nailed the melodic line perfectly.

Cat and Girton applauded the choir. "Wanna try one more, just to make sure?" she mused.

Girton nodded. "Good job, people! Let's try it one more time."

The choir ran through the entire song. Their faces were flushed with excitement. No one seemed tense or intimidated by the challenge of the bridge lyrics. They stifled triumphant grins when they nailed the bridge effortlessly.

"By Jove! I think they've got it!" Cat mimicked Professor Henry Harrison.

"I _know_ they've got it," Girton replied. "OK, people, you're dismissed. I'll meet you in the gym this afternoon."

Ally Lowen pulled into the Teller – Morrow lot, sternly ordering the butterflies in her stomach to settle themselves. 'Best to get this over with as quickly as possible!' She noted with relief that some of the club were absent. 'That'll make it a little easier.'

She closed the door to her car as Clay, followed by Piney and Chibs, met her in front of one of the bays. Piney's Caddy was sitting in a bay for service.

Lowen explained why she'd come out to talk business instead of Rosen. 'Though I suspect I'm going to be dealing more often with SAMCRO. Rosen's getting a lot of flak from his more 'upstanding' clientèle about representing the club. I don't have that problem, and the club brings in a lot of money to the practice.'

Clay felt his stomach turn at Ally's announcement. He turned his back to her and uttered a single, explosive expletive.

'He took that better than I expected," Ally mused while Chibs demanded a more detailed explanation.

Recalling the snub he'd received from the civilians at the barber shop, Piney quickly deduced the drive – by at Sack's wake had spurred the city leader's request. He reported both snub he'd received and the apparent alliance growing between Unser and Hale. Clay stated he knew Jacob Hale was behind the council's petition Ally didn't dissuade him from it.

The attorney informed them the hearing would be on Friday, if the decision went against the club, the bond would be considered forfeit in 180 days.

The three men didn't have to hear her express her own dissatisfaction with the situation, but they appreciated her sentiments. 'Helps to have an lawyer who's not afraid to show how she feels,' Clay consoled himself.

Lowen returned to her car, promising to keep Clay posted before she drove away. As her car turned out of the lot, the trio heard the roar of approaching Harleys.

"Church. Now." Clay muttered, striding towards the clubhouse.

Jax led Bobby, Opie, and Juice into the lot from their visit to Serge's office. Chibs had followed Clay to the clubhouse while Piney waited for the men to park and dismount from their bikes.

"Was that Lowen's car pulling out?" Juice inquired.

"Yeah," Piney rumbled. "Clay wants us in church."

Tig sat on the edge of the bed, gazing at Missy's picture and missing her all over again. The pain of her loss was as fresh as the day she'd died. Instead of the anticipated dreams of his wife, Tig had dreamed of Missy and the good times they'd had together before she'd died.

He'd woken up to a throbbing in his shoulder and a sense of concern for his wife. 'I really didn't like her needin' the stronger stuff. That tells me a lot. Hope she's fellin' better after a good sleep!'

He'd tried to reach her on the two – way; but got the voice mail. He frowned intently over the fatigue and pain evident in her voice.

'She obviously recorded that before I called last night. Prolly still sleepin'. She needs rest more than I need to talk to her'. He waited for the beep to indicate he could leave a message.

"Hey, baby! Glad you're sleepin' in. Just called to check in on ya. Hope you had naughty dreams of me! Rest well. I'll talk to ya later."

He'd heard Tara and Gemma talking in the hallway earlier in the morning, but didn't go out to greet her. 'Sounds like she got here a'right. Those two can use a little 'girl time'. Might help Gemma to talk about her dad without me around.'

As he spent some time with Missy, he thought he heard a car engine outside. 'Might be Tara going out for supplies,' he mused. He was too drained to go check. 'Who else could it be, anyway? It's not like Nate's gonna take it in his head to go visitin' anyone!' He lost himself in communing with Missy, not sparing another thought about the car he'd heard.

He slipped the picture of Missy back into his wallet just as a tap sounded on the closed door. "Yeah!" he called.

"Tig, it's Tara! May I come in?"

"C'mon in. I'm decent!"

The door cracked open and Tara peeked inside before opening it wider and stepping across the threshold, leaving the door open behind her. "I'm sure some people might disagree with that!" she joked.

"Very funny, doc!" Tig retorted. "You've been hangin' around Cat too much!"

Tara smiled wryly, placing her medical bag on the bed and casting an expert eye on Gemma's handiwork. A patch of blood on the sheet and pillow caught her eye. "You must've been a bit active last night," she observed.

"Huh?" Tig followed her gaze to the soiled bedclothes. "Oh. That. Not in the way you're thinkin'," he replied. "Pain kept wakin' me up." He gazed questioningly at her.

"She doesn't know about your injury, nor that I came up here," Tara assured him. "Cat's doing all right. She's pretty weak and there's a lot of demands on her. She doesn't seem to know how to say 'no'."

"Don't I know it! Thanks, doc." Tig sighed inwardly. 'If I were there, people wouldn't _dare_ make those demands! Damn Stahl to Hell!'

Tara slid her hands into latex gloves and laid out the supplies she'd need. "Just stay seated there on the side of the bed, unless you'd rather lay on your stomach."

"What's easiest for you?"

"Doesn't matter. Whichever you feel most comfortable with," she replied.

Tig sat down on the side of the bed again, turning so that Tara had full access to the wound.

She gently peeled the tape and gauze from his shoulder. She frowned at the sight of fresh blood that seeped from the wound. To her relief, there was no angry red coloring on the skin surrounding the entry. Nor was the skin hot to the touch.

"How's it look, doc?" Tig asked.

"Not bad. No sign of infection. Gemma did a very good job of cleaning it."

Tig sighed with relief.

"It's deep, Tig. I need to probe it to make sure there's no internal damage. Might hurt a little."

Tig nodded. "Do what ya gotta do."

Tara worked as gently as she could, but she knew she was causing Tig discomfort. He gritted his teeth and sucked air between his teeth a couple of times as she worked.

After probing the interior of the bullet's entry, she used a long swab to apply an antispetic to the wound, cleaning it thoroughly. It came out with clean, red blood, no pus was visible. 'That's another good sign!'

She used another antiseptic swab to clean the exterior of the wound, assuring Tig there had been no bone or muscle damage. "I'm not going to suture it; the wound is too big for that. The skin might pucker and possibly prevent it from healing properly."

"You're the doctor," he replied. "Whatever you think is right." He thanked her for treating him yet again, apologizing for taking her away from her work.

She snorted in response, not mentioning that she was considering a leave of absence from the hospital. She also wasn't able to give Tig any information on how Jax was handling Abel's absence, citing that he probably confided more in the club than her.

"Except for knowing that he's looking for his son, I don't know much else. He's not talking to me very much," she concluded.

Tig shook his head, not sure what he could say that would comfort Tara. He knew how he'd feel if his girls were taken, and wasn't sure what he'd do in the same situation. 'I'd like to think I wouldn't shut her out. Hope I never have to find out!'

"Dad?" They looked up at Gemma's frightened call. "Daddy, where are you?"

Tara placed a heavier gauze bandage over the wound as Gemma burst into the room. She asked if either of them had seen Nate.

'I've got a bad feelin' about that car I heard earlier!' Tig winced mentally.

Gemma announced that both the family car and the hunting rifle were missing, along with her father.

Tig winced at that news. 'Shit!' He gruffly confessed that he'd heard a car engine nearly a half hour earlier.

'You didn't check?' Gemma thought angrily, then mentally chastised herself for her lack of charity. 'It's not Tig's job to watch out for Daddy. How was he to know Nate would take off in the car?'

Tig couldn't miss the flash of annoyance on Gemma's face. He felt chagrined that he'd not checked when he heard the car start up. 'What if it'd been the Feds?'

Tara raced out of the bedroom in Gemma's wake. They stepped out the front door, which only confirmed Gemma's fear. The Cadillac was gone, along with Nate and the rifle.

Gemma knew she had no choice. The only person she could ask for help in finding her father was held prisoner in the basement.


End file.
